


Hummingbird Heartbeat

by staunchly_anonymous



Series: the mixtapes [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Canon typical alcohol use, Epikegster, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobic Language, Incidental Kent Parson/Alexei Mashkov - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of Past Overdose, Mentions of Suicide, Panic Attacks, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Threesome, Unrequited Love, sports related violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 130,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7671250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staunchly_anonymous/pseuds/staunchly_anonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty discovers an anonymous Youtuber whose videos he can't get enough of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. waking up in vegas

It started with a search for Katy Perry’s _Roar_ and ended with Bitty down a Youtube rabbit hole, watching a guy whose face he couldn’t see sing acoustic cover after acoustic cover of pop songs with a certain alluring air of tragedy. With an unrevealing channel name like ‘SweetiePie90’ there was really no telling who the guy was -- and he always sat _just_ enough off-camera that it was obvious he didn’t want people to know. The few times he’d sat in full view of the camera, he was always turned all the way around. At best, all anyone could say about him was that he was some blond white guy.

A blond white guy with an amazing voice, of course. The song ended and it rolled over to the next video. It was Bastille’s _Pompeii_ , and the video was obviously filmed in a hotel room. The camera focused on hands playing a honey-gold guitar, light flashing off the strings and the small bits of inlaid pearl on the guitar’s neck.

_How am I gonna be an optimist about this?_

Bitty leaned his chin in his hand.

Bitty watched every Katy Perry cover on the channel before moving on to the Britney Spears covers. _Toxic_ had the most views -- it was _really_ good, though Bitty wasn’t sure why that surprised him. The video opened on a cat sitting on a sofa next to the player known only as ‘Sweetie’. The cat was wearing a little bomber jacket.

He hit subscribe.

It was a nice surprise to see a new video go up the following week. This one was the first non-song video, simply titled “Q&A”. Sweetie was sitting with his back to the camera.

“All right, all right. I know a bunch of you have been asking me questions forever, so I figured I could do you a solid and actually answer a couple of them for once. I’m going with the most commonly asked stuff on here, all right?” He held up a piece of paper, reading questions off of it. “Okay, so, first question. ‘Who are you?’” A soft laugh. “C’mon, I’m not telling, right? You can call me Sweetie. I like that. Next question -- ‘how old are you’? Really? It says SweetiePie **90** . Do some math!” He shook his head a little and looked held up the paper again.

“Now, let’s see. Oh, ‘how long have you been playing guitar?’” A sigh. His shoulders sagged a little. “I started playing guitar when I was eighteen. Some stuff happened in my life and I needed… something new to focus on, you know? So I kind of threw myself into learning it. It’s been good for me.” He ran a hand over his blond hair.

Clearing his throat, he hunched his shoulders for a second. “Next question. Ah -- ‘Sweetie, how do you choose which songs to cover?’” He paused. “Well, I just kind of cover stuff I like, you know? Sometimes I’ll do requests, but not often.” He laughed, and it was a soft sort of bubbly laugh. “I know I cover a lot of pop songs, but I _like_ pop songs. So, you know. Nobody’s forcing you to listen. But --” he held a hand up, waving at the camera. “Stop requesting me to cover Bon Jovi! This joke has gotten _way_ out of hand --”

The rest of the video carried on in that more light-hearted manner. Sweetie kept a bit of a smile in his voice and answered questions about who he preferred more, Katy Perry or Britney? Bitty found himself wondering what Sweetie’s face looked like as he continued to answer questions. “Okay, all right. I’ve gotten this question over and over again for --” a sigh. “-- For a long time. ‘Whose birthday song is that’? And I, you know. Thought about just ignoring it, but it just keeps coming back, so let me just let you guys know this one time and one time only: it’s nobody’s. Don’t worry about it.” Sweetie sighed again, setting down the paper. He leaned forward, picking up the guitar.

“Anyways,” he said, “here’s _Wonderwall_.” He launched into a cover of the Oasis song and after that? The video was over. Bitty watched every single version of Happy Birthday on the channel.

They were all posted on August third.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the title is a Katy Perry song. Chapter titles will be lyrics. Many of the relationships in the tags are potential. I'm making sure people know ahead of time.
> 
> No, I don't know who is going to end up together, either. Place your bets.


	2. forget about fate and just hold me

The videos seemed to come out about once every two to three weeks. The video cover of Wiz Khalifa’s _Work Hard, Play Hard_  was just the audio over a montage of angry cat pictures. Bitty voted it up immediately. The video of Britney Spears  _ Hold It Against Me _ was preceded by a rambling explanation of why Sweetie hadn’t covered it yet, despite having been asked repeatedly to do so in comments.

“Sometimes it takes me a while,” he said, hands busily tuning the guitar, “to come up with the arrangement, and then I have to figure out what it is that I want to do. You know?” A pause. “And I had to take my cat to the vet. She has this toy --”

The video went through a whole story about how Sweetie’s cat had chipped its tooth and he’d rushed it to the vet in what sounded like a panic. It was adorable, truthfully. That cat clearly meant the world to him.

 

Bitty started leaving comments on the videos. At first he’d simply pushed the thumbs-up, especially since he was going through the old ones -- but Bitty knew how nice it felt to receive comments on his videos, how much he appreciated it. Armed with that knowledge and won over by how terribly sweet and melancholy some of the covers were, Bitty started off leaving simple comments about how much he’d enjoyed it. As he went further back in the videos Bitty realized that the location changed pretty often. Sweetie seemed to be in hotels a lot.

 

When he got to the video covering Adele’s  _ To Make You Feel My Love _ , though, Bitty  **cried** . It was one of the oldest videos on the channel, and somehow Sweetie seemed smaller in it. He sounded so young and so heartbroken, sitting in a hotel room with the window open, an obvious rainstorm in the background.

_ You’re evil _ , he wrote.  _ How can this cover be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard? Who hurt you, sweetie? I just wanna hug you, bless your heart. _

Sweetie replied the next day.  _ Bless yours. _

It was probably a little silly, Bitty reasoned, to be so excited over a reply to a comment on a Youtube video. And yet, he  _ was _ excited. Sweetie’s videos had lots of comments. He didn’t reply to all of them, not by a long shot. But he’d replied to Bitty, and he replied to a few other comments Bitty left, too.

 

The next cover didn’t show up for a month and a half. Bitty was wasting time on Youtube, avoiding doing homework at an honestly ridiculous hour when he noticed the upload. To compensate for the long wait between updates, Sweetie uploaded two videos at once. The first was Demi Lovato’s  _ Until You’re Mine _ , and it was so new that it only had two views when Bitty clicked on it. 

Filmed in a hotel room, this video had low lighting and there was soft rub to Sweetie’s voice as if he were tired. He was seated with his back to the camera, shirtless, wearing a black ball cap backwards and not much else -- at least, not much that Bitty could see. The camera was close enough to capture the smattering of freckles across Sweetie’s shoulders and upper back.

Bitty swallowed against the sudden dryness in his mouth, noticing the way muscles moved under skin with even small motions. He could see Sweetie’s fingers dancing along the neck of the guitar, could catch the light sway of his torso as he went into the chorus. An irregular softness lingered around the edges of his voice, making him sound gentler than usual. He was so...

 

_ Is it necessary _ , Bitty commented when the song finished,  _ for you to be both talented and gorgeous? Seems excessive. _

Sweetie replied to his comment in a matter of seconds.  _ I am compensating for the fact that I can’t bake. _

Bitty stared at the sentence, reading it again. Did this mean -- had Sweetie been watching  _ Bitty’s _ videos? He’d replied so quickly. 

Moving on to the second video, Bitty smiled a little. It was  _ All I Want For Christmas Is You _ , because… because of course it was. Sweetie had pulled on a dark green shirt and a black santa hat for this one. It suited him, somehow. Humming along to the tune, Bitty changed into pajamas.

 

A few minutes later, a comment came through on one of Bitty’s videos. It was one of the oldest on his channel, actually: Christmas sausage balls.  _ I followed your instructions exactly _ , Sweetie wrote,  _ and these things are disgusting. _

And not three minutes later, another comment on the same video:  _ Why does this exist? Southern food is so gross! _

Bitty cracked his knuckles and sat back down at his desk. It sounded like Sweetie needed an education, and he knew _ just  _ where to start.  _ Let’s talk about biscuits _ , he wrote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline-wise, this is meant to be happening through fall and into winter of 2013 -- Bitty's first winter at Samwell. This means that the "Parse" episodes have not yet happened.
> 
> see also: http://8tracks.com/zombizombi/hummingbird-heartbeat


	3. they say one man's trash is another man's treasure

The next video wasn’t posted until well after Christmas. Bitty and Sweetie had exchanged video comments over the holiday, with the latter being forced to admit that Bitty’s gingersnap recipe was nothing short of magical.  _ When I don’t burn them ;), _ Sweetie had said, and Bitty had imagined him in a kitchen surrounded by piles of crispy gingersnaps and his fluffy cat.

Bitty watched every Christmas song cover on Sweetie’s channel. There weren’t that many, though there were a couple pop covers that had obviously been filmed around Christmas time judging by the lights or tree behind Sweetie. One of the videos featuring his cat wearing a cute little kitty-sized Santa hat. Bitty found himself wondering where Sweetie spent Christmas. Was it in a hotel? At his apartment? A brick fireplace behind one of the oldest Christmas-y videos didn’t look familiar to Bitty at all.

The new video was a cover of Katy Perry’s  _ Wide Awake _ , and the description in the box below was terribly short.  _ The past beats inside me like a second heart _ . What did that mean?

 

Bitty pushed play and leaned his chin in his hand, sitting down for a moment to take a break from unpacking after returning to Samwell. The video was dark -- Sweetie had recorded the whole thing with the lights off. It was hard to tell where he was, but it seemed likely that it was his apartment from what Bitty could make out. A string of white icicle lights glittered behind him but it was almost impossible to see him sitting there, a faint outline of a man with a guitar.

Sometimes he told little stories with his songs, anecdotes about his cat or that one time when he’d gone to a Britney Spears concert and accidentally cried the whole way through from sheer disbelief. At the very least he always said hello to the viewers when the song ended and thanked them for watching. This time he went straight into the song, and once the song was over, the video cut off. Staring at the dark box for a moment while the ‘replay’ button popped up, Bitty chewed on his lower lip.

 

It seemed different from normal. He wasn’t sure of how, it just -- it  _ was _ . Sweetie’s covers often had a sad edge to them, but this was something else. Something was off. He let his mouse hover over the channel name for a moment, considering his options. Clicking it, Bitty went straight for the ‘send message’ box, which pulled up a private messaging window.

_ Hey _ , he typed, after a moment’s hesitation.  _ Are you okay? _

Bitty hit ‘send’.

He waited for only a moment before leaning back. Was it all right to send a private message? They’d been trading video comments for a few months. What if it crossed some kind of boundary? Video comments were one thing, but --

 

_ 1 new message. _

 

Bitty clicked the link.

 

Sweetie’s message was only one sentence long.  _ Tired of drama. _

What? Was that -- was he quoting --  _ Is this a Taylor Swift music video now?? _ Bitty sent back.  _ I thought you had a strict no-Taylor policy. _

_ Haha. You’re the cute blond across from me, right? Shouldn’t you have said sorry :( _

Bitty grinned.  _ Sorry :( _ he sent.

_ I’ll let you make it up to me _ , Sweetie replied.  _ You can post a video of yourself dancing around in your pajamas any time. _

 

Bitty’s face went hot with a blush and he laughed, turning his head to the side and covering his mouth. What was he  **doing** ? Although, to be fair, this kind of flirtation was harmless. Right? A second message came through as he hesitated.

 

_ Short shorts will work, too. ;) _

 

Cute. Remembering the video, Bitty carefully typed  _ Oh, am I the one who understands you, then?  _ And hit ‘send’.

 

The reply to that took a while. Bitty chewed his lower lip. It was too flirty, right? Way too flirty. Maybe Sweetie didn’t appreciate that, even though honestly, some of his comments were  **way** flirtier than Bitty’s. He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing there was a way to bring a message back once it was sent. And then --

_ Have you been here all along? _ and then,  _ You might be, but I won’t hold my breath. _

_ C’mon _ , Bitty sent, feeling a shiver of courage go down his spine. They were  **talking** . Actually talking, where no one else could see.  _ Isn’t this easy?  _ He waited for a just a minute before letting that courage keep coming.  _ You can talk to me, if you want. _

It took longer for the message to come.  _ This has got to be the worst flirting ever. I’m all right, sunshine. Just thinking. How was your day? Bake anything? _

_ Distracting me? _ Bitty sent.  _ I’m just avoiding homework. I baked cookies today -- brown butter chocolate chip.  _ He chewed his lip for a moment before adding  _ whatcha thinking about? _ and sending the message.

_ You’re cute _ , Sweetie sent,  _ and I will be thinking about your cookies, but I have to go. Talk again later? Stay gold, Ponyboy. _

 

That was a line from something, Bitty just knew it. He went to Google and typed in the phrase. The very first search result was a novel by S.E. Hinton --  _ The Outsiders _ .

  
_ Yeah, _ he sent back.  _ We can rumble any time. _


	4. you and i walk a fragile line

The messaging became a habit over the next two and a half months. Sometimes Bitty messaged first, other times Sweetie messaged first. Eventually, they were chatting at least a little almost every day. They’d traded Skype handles, but only with the caveat that text-based messages would be the extent of their talking -- for now.

They talked about… everything, honestly. Sweetie admitted to at least an  _ interest _ in hockey (though from conversations, it was obvious that he knew quite a lot about the sport), and they talked about the upcoming championships and Bitty’s move to the first line on the Samwell team. They never really talked about what Sweetie did for a living, though he said he traveled often during the winter months when Bitty asked about the hotels.

 

But mostly?

 

Mostly they just talked about Bitty’s classes, how life was going, or the latest episodes of whatever television show they’d both watched. Sweetie told Bitty cute little stories about his cat, and they talked about what he was cooking for dinner that night. Sometimes Sweetie stayed up late chatting with Bitty while he did homework, and he always called him ‘sunshine’. Eventually they talked about growing up and what it was like to be in the closet and how Sweetie, born and raised Roman Catholic, still hadn’t managed to shake the intense guilt that followed missing a mass. Almost every night Sweetie went to bed first after saying  _ tell me goodnight, i gotta go xo _ .

 

_ I really like talking to you _ , Bitty wrote.  _ I know we just talk about random stuff, but -- I don’t know. _

_ I know ;)  _ Sweetie wrote back. And then, a few minutes later,  _ that’s how I feel about you. _

 

Some time in March Sweetie posted another speaking video, this time calling for requests. “I’ve decided to take you guys seriously and let you request a couple of songs for me to cover,” he said, sitting with just his guitar and hands in view of the camera. “Do  _ not _ ,” he said, holding up a finger, “ask for Bon Jovi. I’m not kidding, guys. I’m not going to cover  _ Dead or Alive _ , I’m just not gonna do it. All right?”

 

Bitty replied immediately.  _ Oh! Please do Emotion by Destiny’s Child! _

The reply popped back within minutes.  _ Already got your song picked, sorry sunshine. ;) _

 

Already had  **his** song picked? As in, Sweetie had decided on his own to cover a  **specific** song for Bitty already? Bitty’s neck burned with a sudden blush at the sight of the nickname used publicly and he pressed a hand to his face.

What could it be?

 

The first of the request videos was up two days later. It was a cover of The Script’s  _ Breakeven _ and Sweetie didn’t specify who it was for, though someone in the comments suggested that it  _ had _ to be for an ex-boyfriend. The second cover posted two days later was Fleetwood Mac’s  _ Landslide _ , covered for someone with a username ending in 1979.

It was a very… intimate video, probably one of the sweetest on the whole channel. Sweetie was curled up in an armchair, the camera positioned just behind him and to the side, leaving his face hidden in the dark. It was night, the large windows behind him black, gold light from a lamp sinking into his blond hair. He swayed softly while playing, and Bitty realized that this video was the first time he’d seen quite so much of Sweetie’s jaw in view of the camera, blond five o’clock shadow and all. He replayed the video at least ten times over the following week.

 

The rest of the videos were done in hotel rooms and felt much more like Sweetie’s normal covers. JJonahJohnson requested  _ I’m Yours _ by Jason Mraz, which Sweetie covered next but only after remarking that he really didn’t like the song that much and had found covering it quite difficult. “And listen,” he said, after the cover ended, “to the person who’s requested Gorilla by Bruno Mars like six times now --  _ stop.  _ I’m not covering that song.” Up next? A Mariah Carey and Ariana Grande mashup. “This was actually really hard,” Sweetie confessed in the video while he tuned his guitar, “but I had a lot of fun with it. Thanks for the challenge, misfitshipper1809.”

 

Offline, hockey was heating up. The championship game was coming up and Bitty confessed his nerves to Sweetie one night while they chatted. Sweetie’s typing was running slow because he was in the kitchen, something Bitty wished he were doing… before long they were cooking and baking, respectively, typing out sentences in between.

_ look i know you’re talented, _ Sweetie wrote,  _ and you’ve been improving, right? you’ve been saying everything’s great. _

That was true. Bitty knew he’d talked a lot recently about Jack and hockey. Sweetie often didn’t have much to say to Bitty’s remarks about Jack, but he was always encouraging.  _ I’m just nervous _ , he sent.

_ i’ll watch your game if you want. i’ll be your cheerleader. you’ve got this, sunshine. _

It helped a little.

 

Bitty was still nervous before the game. There was a lot riding on it -- if they lost, Samwell was out of the running. It’d be the last game of the season, and if Bitty were honest, he really wasn’t ready for the season to end. He didn’t want to let the team -- but especially Jack -- down. 

 

It ended up being Bitty’s last game regardless. By the time he got back to his room after seeing a doctor, Bitty was exhausted. He went to bed immediately.

 

Around midnight, an annoying sound started coming from his phone. It was a Skype phone call. Frowning, Bitty pushed accept without thinking about it, sitting up in bed on his elbow. “Hello?”

“Oh my god,” a male voice said, “ _ Eric _ . Are you okay?” A beat of silence, and then “fuck, I woke you up, huh?”

He blinked. Then, it clicked. A Skype call. “ _ Sweetie _ ?”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve called you, I just -- I was worried about you, you know I said I’d watch your game and I saw that hit and -- it’s a concussion, right? I know you skated off the ice, but -- and you haven’t been online at all and --”

“Hi,” said Bitty, again. Sweetie stopped talking.

  
After a long stretch of silence, a soft breath came through the other end of the line. “Hi,” Sweetie said, voice gentler this time.


	5. oh, love, i think i'm ready

“You sound different on the phone,” Bitty said, unable to think of anything else. Sweetie’s voice was somehow sort of… deeper, a little, maybe? A bit more like honey. He could hear the concern his voice, just like he could hear a little bit of New York and faint hint of something else in him. “I like it.” Bitty felt like he was really _hearing_ Sweetie for the first time.

 

“Thanks.” The word was soft, sweet. “I’m sorry for calling, really. I was just --” he cleared his throat. “I was worried about you.”

“It’s okay,” Bitty said. “I’m glad you called. I’ve been wondering about voice chatting lately anyway, it’s hard to type to you while I’m doing homework sometimes, and --”

 

“ _Eric_.” Sweetie sighed, the sound windy through the line. “Seriously. Are you okay?” He paused.

“Yeah.” Bitty laid back down off his elbow. He stared up at the ceiling in the dark. “I mean I have a concussion, but I’ll be okay. Thanks for --”

 

“Do _not_ say thanks for worrying about me,” Sweetie interrupted.

“Um,” said Bitty, blinking in the dark, “okay. Thanks for having a cute cat? W-- what time is it there?”

“Here?” A pause. “It’s like nine at night.” There were some rustling sounds. “God, I’m an idiot. I’m just gonna -- do you want me to hang up? I'm gonna hang up. This was such a bad idea, I’m sorry for waking you up.”

 

Did he want him to hang up? Bitty considered it for half a second. He was tired and it was getting late, but... “No,” he said quickly. "Don't hang up." This was easy. It felt natural. Bitty closed his eyes. “What are you doing? Tell me what you’re doing now.”

“Calling you?” Sweetie laughed a little, and the sound was gentle and warm. “Obviously. I’m at home. We don’t have -- I don’t have to be out of town right now. So I’m at home. I was just reading.”

 

Reading. “What’d you make for dinner?” Bitty yawned.

“Just fish and vegetables. I was lazy. And then I was reading to distract myself from being worried.” A gentle laugh. “You know, you can go back to sleep if you want, I’m not gonna be offended...”

“Yeah, but then what if I never get to talk to you again?”

 

The laugh that came through was louder this time. Bitty had heard Sweetie laugh in his videos sometimes, but not like this. This was a genuine laugh, all bright edges and bubbles. “I’ll give you my number. Swear to god, all right?” He said ‘all right’ with the L’s almost left out, dragging it into one word.

 

“Okay,” said Bitty, rubbing his forehead. He took a breath. His head was hurting and he felt vaguely dizzy. Thinking was like wading through a thick fog. “I’d like that,” he murmured.

Sweetie’s voice softened. “Hey. Want me to read to you or something?”

“What are you reading?”

“Shit, I’ll read you the dictionary if you want.” More rustling sounds. “Here, look. I’ll read you some _Harry Potter_. You like Harry Potter, right?”

“I’ve read it already,” Bitty mumbled. He yawned.

“Good,” said Sweetie. “Then you’ll go to sleep easily, won’t you?”

 

He sighed softly as though settling in. “Okay. I’m on book three, so -- I’ll just pick up where I was reading.”

That sounded fine. Bitty found he didn’t really mind what Sweetie said, but he liked the rhythm of his voice. “Mmm.”

“All right.” The sounds of pages turning filtered through. “Okay. Ready?”

“M’ready,” Bitty said.

Sweetie took a drink of something and then a breath before beginning to read. “ _Département des Catastrophes magiques et j’ai été un des premiers a me rendre sur place après la tuerie. Je ne l’oublierai jamais. Il m’arrive encore d’en rêver. Il y avait_ \--”

 

For a moment, Bitty couldn’t understand what was happening. Why couldn’t he understand a single thing Sweetie was saying? Suddenly, his eyes snapped open as the realization hit him. “Wait -- are you reading to me in French?” he interrupted.

“Oh,” said Sweetie, pausing for a moment before switching back to English. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, I actually... only have this one in French. I’ll read you the next one in English.”

 

The next one. Sweetie said it easily, like he could see himself reading to Bitty at night over and over for a long time into the future. Bitty smiled softly, a warmth spreading all the way down to his toes. “So why do you have Harry Potter in French?” he asked.

“My mom’s French,” Sweetie said, his tone gentle as if he were being quite patient with Bitty. “And I lived in Quebec for a while, I got this back then. Just lay down, it doesn’t matter since you know the story, anyway --”

“In Canada?”

“Yeah, Eric, where else is Quebec? How bad _is_ your concussion, anyway?”

“What were you doing --”

“Dude. What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?” Sweetie laughed. “We can talk about that stuff later. C’mon, just lemme read here. You were gonna fall asleep in like two more sentences, anyway. Trust me.”

“I was not,” Bitty said. “I could’ve made it through at least five more.”

 

“Sure, sunshine,” Sweetie murmured, “sure. I’m gonna read now, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Can you just listen without interrupting me now?”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Now, where was I?” He hummed a little. “Oh yeah. _Il y avait au milieu de la rue un cratère si profond que les canalisations des égouts avaient éclaté_ …”

  
Bitty made it through two entire paragraphs before drifting off to sleep.


	6. what would it take for you to just leave with me?

As promised, Sweetie did send his number to Bitty. He saved it in his phone as _sweetiepie_ with one sparkly, one music note, and two cake emojis. They sent text messages back and forth, and Bitty wondered how Sweetie had saved _his_ name. Were there emojis? Was he in Sweetie’s phone as ‘Eric’ or as ‘omgcheckplease’? Was his number even saved or did Sweetie just look at the digits and know it was him?

It was weird, hearing someone call him Eric. No one called him that -- all the guys at school called him Bitty, and his parents called him Dicky or Junior. Sweetie was the only person who called Bitty by his actual, given name, and Bitty liked the way it sounded when he said it. His name blurred together on Sweetie’s tongue, almost one syllable sometimes.

Talking to him was a sweet little secret. Bitty wasn’t keeping it from anyone because he was worried, but rather because he wanted it to stay special. There was something exciting about their nighttime calls, something romantic about knowing that he had something special that no one else knew about, a person who cared about him and no one else he knew. He never got Sweetie’s voicemail when he called, and every time Sweetie picked up the phone and said “hey, you”, something warm bloomed in Bitty’s stomach.

 

Samwell lost their next game. Bitty told Sweetie about it over the phone, because using the computer or texting for long still made his eyes hurt a little. “So that’s it,” he said softly, “that’s the season, I guess.” He sighed. “And now I gotta go home for the summer and try to get over this concussion, I guess.”

“It’ll be okay, sunshine,” Sweetie said. “I promise. And you need the rest.”

 

The rest of the term passed in a blur. Sweetie was busy, his videos appearing in hotel rooms more and more often. When they spoke on the phone, he sounded tired. “It’s just work,” he said. “Work’s exhausting. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Are you in bed?”

“Yeah. Well -- I’m ready for bed.”

A sigh. “How late are you staying up?”

“I have to finish some homework,” Bitty said.

“Mmm.” Sweetie yawned. Bitty put him on speaker and hurried through the last of his math problems, asking questions to keep his attention.

 

“How’s your cat?”

“Probably lonely,” Sweetie said. “I should get one of those backpacks with the little bubble window so she can come with me when I’m traveling --”

Bitty laughed. “Would you _really_? Gosh.”

The soft ghost of a laughed filtered out of the speaker. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” A sigh. “It’s fine. I’m sure she’s fine. I mean, I have a pet sitter.”

“You’re so cute,” Bitty said, not really thinking about it. As soon as the words passed his lips he caught his breath. Maybe that was a bit -- was it too much? It _was_ cute, though. Sweetie adored that cat. A small stretch of silence followed them.

“I’m something,” said Sweetie, finally. He yawned. “C’mon. I’m tired, sunshine.”

 

They were still reading _Harry Potter et le Prisonnier d’Azkaban_ . Sweetie had promised that he had the _Goblet of Fire_ in English, but Bitty secretly wished he had every single one of them in French. He couldn’t really follow the story, but the gentle rhythm of Sweetie’s voice and the faint drop in the timber of his voice when he spoke French was just really… hot.

 

Not that he’d admitted that to Sweetie, of course. Given the response to being called cute, Bitty wasn’t sure whether or not they were on the same page about whatever was happening between them. He’d thought that talking almost every day, even if it was just a text message, showed mutual interest. Sweetie was often quite flirtatious with him, too, asking him about what he was wearing or making other comments that made Bitty blush.

 

He **knew** that Sweetie wasn’t straight; he changed pronouns in his songs to male ones on purpose and he’d freely answered a question about liking guys on the Q &A video with “yeah”. And surely guys didn’t just read bedtime stories almost every single night in _French_ to people they thought of as just a friend. Right?

 

Settling into bed, Bitty laughed. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Go ahead. I’m ready. Read to me.”

Sweetie sighed again. “All right. Where were we?” This happened every time. “ _Oh_ , yeah. Okay.” He cleared his throat. “ _L'après-midi, l'épreuve de potions tourna au désastre le plus complet…_ ”

 

Bitty closed his eyes, relaxing into his pillows as he listened to the cadence of Sweetie’s voice. With the lights off, snuggled into bed, it was easy to feel like they were together. He began to drift off while Sweetie read on, getting through most of one chapter. The sudden interruption of French with quiet English caught Bitty’s attention, pulling him back out of the half-sleep he’d fallen into.

“I think you’re asleep now,” Sweetie murmured softly, “so I guess I’m done for tonight.” He paused. “You know, it’s -- it’s the best part of my day, reading to you. Thanks for talking to me. I’m really --” he swallowed. “I -- sleep tight, Eric.”

Sweetie hung up before Bitty could say anything.

 

There was a new video posted in the morning. It was the next cover in the request series, and this one, finally, was noted to be for Bitty. Holding his breath, he pushed play.

A cover of Jesse McCartney’s _Beautiful Soul_ , it was filmed in a hotel room, and from the window next to him, it looked to be dawn. Sweetie was sitting cross-legged on a large bed amidst a pile of rumpled white sheets. The window was open, a breeze stirring the filmy curtains.

He was shirtless again. He was shirtless and his feet were bare and he was wearing a pair of what looked like faded blue pajama pants, and all Bitty could think was that this must be what it looked like to wake up next to him. There was no doubt that he was all messy blond hair and freckled shoulders where Bitty couldn’t see, and not for the first time he found himself wondering about the color of Sweetie's eyes. The camera angle caught Sweetie from the chest down, focusing on his hands but not leaving much beyond his face to the imagination. His voice had that rough edge that Bitty had come to associate with their nighttime reading, a soft indicator that he was still tired.

 

Sweetie didn’t say anything about the song beforehand. It was uploaded as part of the request series, so technically, he didn’t have to -- it would be assumed that Bitty had requested it, and only someone who regularly read comments on Sweetie’s videos would know that he’d actually picked it himself. That sweet, deep, warm feeling from the first time Sweetie called settled over Bitty again as he listened to the song.

It was just the sweetest thing. And when it ended, he cleared his throat, hands tightening on his guitar for a moment. “You know, for a long time,” Sweetie said, after a beat of silence, “I felt like we only get a limited amount of real happiness in life and I… I used mine up too early? But lately I’ve been thinking that maybe I, um. Maybe I can still get some. And that’s the way I’m feeling today. And I wanted to thank you for that.” The video flicked off instantly.

 

A commenter tagged someone else after writing in all caps _I SWEAR TO GOD THEY’RE DATING I TOL U SO AHAHAHAHA_ followed by a string of hearts.

  
Bitty went to his last day of class still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline-wise, we are now at the end of Bitty's first year at Samwell.
> 
> If you'd like to enjoy some great youtube covers of many of the songs mentioned here in the fic, I invite you to look up Boyce Avenue's channel.


	7. i don't like the way i never listen to myself

Summer in Georgia was… frustrating.

Going to camp during the day was great. Talking to Sweetie at night was great, too. They made it **almost** all the way through _Harry Potter et le Prisonnier d’Azkaban._ Sweetie said they had three more chapters to go. But it was hard to explain who Sweetie was to his mother, because telling her that he’d met him online seemed a bit too… much. So Bitty let his mother think that Sweetie was a friend from school, and he tried to take all their nighttime calls in his bedroom where he knew he’d be alone.

In some ways, Bitty felt that he and Sweetie were closer than ever. Their phone calls continued with hardly a single night going by that Bitty didn’t get at least a little time with Sweetie on the phone. Sweetie talked about his cat and his cactus garden and Bitty taught him about what kids did at summer camp, because apparently Sweetie never went.

They talked about the World Cup and whether or not Sweetie was watching it -- he was -- and what he thought about FIFA. That conversation turned out a **lot** longer than Bitty planned (“do you even _know_ about the corruption levels in FIFA? It’s _wild_!”). They talked about how Bitty was doing, about the weather in Georgia, and about his mom. Bitty explained some things about his family and got a murmured commiseration about being in the closet to family members. They talked about how much Bitty missed his friends but how much he loved baking at home, and he learned that Sweetie barely ever went home. He lived alone.

“You don’t even go for _Christmas_?” Bitty asked, aghast at the idea.

Sweetie sighed. “I go home about once a year,” he admitted. “If I go for Christmas, I have to go to midnight mass and it’s a mess and I hate it -- I’m really pretty busy during that time of year with work.” He paused. “Sometimes I go for my birthday. It’s not a big deal.” He sighed.

Bitty pondered about what kind of business would be that busy around Christmas. Sweetie lived in Las Vegas, he knew that because they’d traded addresses even though Sweetie’s was a post office box. He talked as though his parents didn’t approve of him in some way. With every conversation, Bitty gathered puzzle pieces and tried to put them together.

Sweetie posted several videos in a row, finishing out more of his requests. They were all filmed in the same apartment Bitty saw in previous videos -- which meant that, for the time being, Sweetie wasn’t traveling quite as much. The video for Eels’ _I Need Some Sleep_ was filmed on a back patio, tinged with warm sunlight. It had the hazy feeling of summer to it, Sweetie’s voice and posture relaxed.

At the end of June, Sweetie posted a rather somber cover of Christina Aguilera’s _Tough Lover_ and mentioned that his birthday was coming up. “I won’t be posting a new video until after, probably,” he admitted after finishing the song, “on account of I’ll be way too drunk for the next like, forty-eight hours to even pick up this guitar.” He laughed brightly on camera, but it was a hollow imitation of the honeyed sincerity in his real laugh on the phone.

That night, Bitty called him first. “Sweetie,” he said, relaxing on his bed under the overhead fan, a glass of iced tea sweating on the nightstand next to him, “there’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

A clatter of dishes came through the other end of the line. “Uh huh. What’s that, sunshine?”

“Well, I’ve just been thinking…”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“... about your _job_ ,” Bitty continued, pretending he hadn’t heard that. He took a deep breath. Usually, any time the conversation turned toward what Sweetie did for a living, he found a way to gracefully change the subject. And yet, it was obvious that he wasn’t hurting for money at all, and he often admitted to being tired or otherwise stressed about ‘work’. “Are you, um. Are you a sex worker? It’s okay to tell me if you are...”

A louder clatter of dishes came through. Bitty winced.

“Am I a _what_ now?” Sweetie said.

Oh dear. “It’s just,” Bitty said quickly, “all the hotels, you know. And the way you never wanna talk about your job, or who you really are. And Sweetie Pie’s kind of an obvious name. I mean I know you make good money, you have nice watches and stuff, and you’re -- you know you’re gorgeous, I don’t have to tell you that. And, I mean. I know you can do that in Las Vegas. I just wanted you to know it’s not a big deal if --”

Wait a second. Was Sweetie _laughing_? Bitty’s ears burned.

“Let me get this straight,” Sweetie said, his voice rough, “you think I’m a _hooker_? Gotta say, that’s a new one on me, I --”

Bitty’s shoulders tightened. “Not -- not a _hooker_ ,” he hissed, not wanting to be too loud. “Just, you know. An _escort_ . Or something. I’m not gonna **judge** you or anything, I mean I understand why you have to be discreet, but --”

Sweetie was laughing again. “Oh, Eric,” he said in between what were almost breathless giggles at this point, “what the hell. I’m not a _prostitute_. Jesus Christ.”

“Well -- then --”

“I swear to god,” Sweetie said, “I’m not a whore. That’s real flattering though, thanks for that. I really do just travel a lot for my actual, not-sex-related job.”

“I’m sorry!”

“You ask all the cute guys if they’re hookers, then? Is this a new pickup strategy, or --”

“Shut up!”

Sweetie was laughing again.

“Tell you what,” he said, tone as warm as the summer night, “yes, I live in Las Vegas. And I travel a lot to other cities, but I haven’t had sex in months.” A chuckle. “And it’s Valeray.”

"Valerie?"

"Valer _ay_."

“What is?”

“My name. My middle name, anyway. You can call me that, if you want.” A pause. “Since apparently ‘sweetie’ is a stripper name.”

Bitty sighed. “C’mon, I didn’t mean anything bad. And it’s not _that_ big of a stretch, is it?”

Sweetie didn’t say anything.

“ _Is_ it?” Bitty sat up. “Hey! Are you mad? For real?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Valeray’s a _terrible_ name,” Bitty said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You haven’t had sex in _months_?” Bitty asked. That couldn’t be right. Could it?

Sweetie swallowed, the sound carrying gently through the line. “Ah,” he said, “no. I -- no.”

“Me either,” Bitty said, grinning, and he was gratified to hear Sweetie laugh again.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you know,” Bitty said, after a moment of silence passed between them. “You being a sex worker. I mean -- you could teach me stuff. Right?”

Sweetie sucked in an audible breath. “ _Eric_ ,” he said, “you dirty boy.”

“You know I like the way you say my name.”

“Fuck.” Sweetie took a breath.

“Where are you right now?” Bitty asked, lowering his voice a bit more.

“In the kitchen,” Sweetie said. “Where are you?”

“In bed,” Bitty said. He took a quick breath. “I wish you were here.” He glanced at his bedroom door. Getting up, he crossed the room and flipped the lock. Taking a breath, he turned back around to face his bed.

“Yeah?” Sweetie’s tone warmed and sweetened like sugar caramelizing in a pan. Anticipation shivered in Bitty’s stomach, trickled like fire over his nerves. “And what would you do if I were there?”

Bitty swallowed. Was he really going to do this? Now? In his parents’ house?

Resolve fell over him quickly. Yes. 

“I’d hop up on the kitchen counter,” he said, “and let you come over.” Sitting back down on his bed, he allowed himself to let out a soft breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I --”

“I want you,” Sweetie murmured, his voice a bit deeper, edges raw. “God, Eric. Are you -- is this --”

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Bitty said, “I want to know how you’d want me to fuck you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarity; no, Kent's birthday has not yet passed. Time wise we are right around... the end of June.
> 
> I know everyone has been asking about what Kent does or doesn't know about Bitty. You can assume he's probably watched most, if not all, of Bitty's vlogs up until this point.
> 
> I also want to make it clear that I still have no idea who is going to actually end up together -- sorry!! We'll all have to find out together! Thank you all so much for making this an enjoyable experience. (:


	8. you got his heart and my heart and none of the pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will contain mentions of suicide and/or overdose in a way consistent with Check, Please! canon. Thanks!

The Fourth of July called for apple pie, but more than that, Bitty felt that it called for something special for someone who honestly seemed to be avoiding the subject of his birthday altogether. Every time he mentioned it, Sweetie sidestepped the issue, denying any plans for the day. Bitty woke up early and took a selfie in bed, sheets a mess around bare skin, hair wild against his pillow and cheeks pink. He sent it to Sweetie immediately via Snapchat with a single heart emoji and _good morning, birthday boy!_

Somehow, having an actual name for him hadn’t changed what Bitty called him. It was nice to know, he supposed, but now ‘sweetie’ just seemed like his pet name for his maybe-boyfriend. Over the past five days, he hadn’t bothered calling him anything else. Getting out of bed, Bitty went to take a shower.

When he got out, his phone had a notification on it: _SweetiePie90 took a screenshot!_

He grinned. _Don’t go showing that to anyone!_ Bitty sent.

 _I would never_ , Sweetie sent back instantly. It was quickly followed by a snap of a steam-covered bathroom mirror with a small heart drawn in the corner. Bitty could just barely make out the blurry figure of a man, but he was **pretty sure** that the guy was naked.

The next picture Bitty sent involved the shortest pair of shorts he had, the ones he’d never wear out of his room in front of his parents. They were blue with a white stripe and while he knew it was ridiculous, some part of him had the feeling that Sweetie would appreciate them with the most obnoxious American flag tank top he could find. Getting the right angle took some work, but after several tries Bitty got what he thought was a pretty sexy picture of himself looking over his shoulder at the camera. He snapped it quickly before changing clothes and heading to the kitchen.

Bitty sent a few snaps of the apple pie-making process from the kitchen, but it looked like Sweetie hadn’t looked at his phone in a little while. His phone chirped once the pie was in the oven, and when Bitty checked it he saw that every snap showed the ‘opened’ icon next to it -- the picture in shorts had a ‘screenshot’ icon -- and there was one waiting for him.

Clicking the magenta square, he sucked in a breath. _I went running_ read the caption situated right across the bottom edge of a picture of Sweetie with nothing but a pair of boxer briefs on. He was glistening with sweat and honestly, his abs were **glorious** , a faint dusting of golden hair leading right down to a Calvin Klein waistband. Squinting at what looked like the edge of a tattoo, Bitty --

“Dicky? How’s your pie comin’?” Bitty’s mother stepped into the kitchen.

Quickly tapping on the picture to dismiss it, even though it still had three perfect, incredible, absolutely amazing seconds left on the viewing timer, Bitty pocketed his phone after locking it. “It’s comin’!” he replied, turning to grin at her.

When his phone vibrated a second time, it felt like it was burning a hole in his back pocket. It took him half an hour to duck into a room where he could be alone to view it, but then it turned out to be nothing more than a picture of Sweetie’s cat wearing a little flower crown. Bitty laughed and sent back a quick selfie, realizing a half second too late that he had a smudge of flour on his cheek.

After that, Bitty sent Sweetie pictures of just about anything that day. He sent pictures of the sky, the perfect apple pie, the view from the porch at his parents’ house -- anything that seemed happy, peaceful, beautiful, or comforting. Sweetie sent back pictures of his cat, a picture of a bottle of whiskey, and a picture of a cactus.

It was only once night fell, after he’d sent a video of fireworks and gotten back a lazy snap of Sweetie from the back, shirtless and wearing that same black ball cap he often wore in videos, that Bitty started to consider _other_ types of pictures he could be sending. Once he was back in his room with the door securely locked, Bitty changed back into his blue shorts and settled in on his bed, leaning against pillows. He sent a quick snap of himself with empty space visible next to him. The ‘opened’ icon flashed quickly and then Sweetie sent a picture back, bare wet legs in a light blue bubble bath.

Bitty closed Snapchat and pressed the phone icon to call Sweetie.

“Hey, you.” Sweetie’s voice was warm and loose when he picked up the phone.

“Hey yourself, sweetie.” Bitty paused. “You want me to sing happy birthday to you?”

A gentle laugh flooded through the phone. “Yeah, why not?”

Bitty smiled. “Happy birthday to you…”

Sweetie hummed along with him, laughing a little when he finished. “I don’t think I’ve actually had anyone sing to me in a while,” he said. “Thanks, sunshine.”

Running his finger along his own bare thigh, Bitty let out a quiet breath. “How’re you doin’?” he asked, pitching his voice a little lower. “Are you having a happy birthday?”

“I’m okay,” Sweetie said. “I went for a run. Made dinner. Your pictures were great. The pie looked amazing.”

Bitty laughed. “I make a pretty good apple pie,” he admitted, “but it’s not as good as my Moo Maw’s. Anyway, there’s nothing more American than apple pie, but I guess you probably had birthday apple pie a lot growing up, huh?”

“Never,” Sweetie said. “My mom always made chocolate cake for me.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“I don’t know.” The words were very soft, and there was a long pause between sentences. “I guess.”

Bitty frowned. “Anything I can do to make you happier?” He didn’t _mean_ for it to come out so dirty, but it did all the same. Sweetie’s breath hitched.

           

“Eric,” Sweetie breathed, “you didn’t -- you **don’t** \-- have to do this. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“I know that,” Bitty said, but he didn’t change the tone of his voice. “Are you still in the tub?”

“You don’t even know me,” Sweetie said, voice rough. The faint sound of water sloshing in the background filtered through along with a ragged breath. “I’m _awful_. And I can’t **believe** that you’re still talking to me.”

“I _know_ you,” Bitty said, “more than anyone else in your life right now. Or isn’t that true?” They’d talked about a lot of things over the past few months, different parts of both their lives. They’d talked about things Bitty couldn’t remember ever discussing with anyone else, and he knew that it was the same for Sweetie.

Sweetie was quiet for a long stretch, only his gentle breathing whispering across the line. “It’s true,” he said, finally. “But I -- you don’t --”

“It’s fine like this,” Bitty interrupted softly, “for now. You can tell me what you do, what your last name is, what other people call you -- you can tell me that stuff later. I don’t care. It’s your _birthday_. You weren’t even gonna tell me, were you?”

“Eric…”

“Where is this coming from? D’you hate your birthday this much?” Bitty paused. This wasn’t about Sweetie’s birthday, not really. There was always an undercurrent with him, a faint black sadness underneath everything. “What’s going on with you?”

“You know,” Sweetie said, after another stretch of silence, “how I told you about, um.”

“About your ex-boyfriend,” Bitty supplied, making an educated guess. The ex-boyfriend who’d attempted suicide, the only one Sweetie said he had – that one.

“It was just before my birthday,” Sweetie said. “Maybe a week or two. I, um. We were supposed to --” he swallowed. “We were supposed to go somewhere important the next day. And we were staying in a hotel. I was getting ready for dinner, and I, um. I wanted to ask him about my tie, because I never liked that tie, it was blue and I look better in green and --”

“Sweetie,” Bitty said, trying to keep his tone gentle, “it’s okay.”

He swallowed audibly. “I found him. When I went to ask about my tie. And he was -- I found him, and called 9-1-1, and they wouldn’t let me in the ambulance.” Another swallow, this one rougher than the last. “Did you know that? They won’t always let you in the ambulance. Even if you say you have to go, too, even if it’s really important, they won’t --”

“It’s okay,” Bitty said again, pulling his knees up to his chest, curling the phone close as if he could reach down the line and pull Sweetie to him in the way he so obviously needed. “It’s okay, honey.”

Sweetie took a shivering breath. “They made me stay in that waiting room forever. I mean, they wouldn’t let me see him. When his parents came, too, I still --” he stopped talking for a moment.

“I waited all night. I had to go, in the morning? But I came back after, and he was awake, but he --” A sigh. “He didn’t want to see me. And he’s never wanted to see me. Ever again. And I can’t even blame him because I...”

For a moment, Bitty couldn’t hear anything beyond the sound of water pouring down a drain, sliding off skin and splashing against tile. “It wasn’t your _fault_ ,” he said. “Sweetie. Are you there?” He couldn’t hear anything.

“I went by myself,” Sweetie said, finally. “To the event. I had to go by myself and I wore that _fucking_ blue tie. And then he wouldn’t see me and so I spent my birthday in Vegas.”

“Alone?” Bitty asked, very quietly.

“I think about that night every year.” Sweetie set the phone down with an obvious _click_ , and Bitty could hear rustling that he assumed was clothing. When the phone picked back up, a sigh wound its way through the line. “I don’t _plan_ on it. I hate this. _Fuck_ , this isn’t -- Eric, I’m sorry. I’m -- I’m doing it, aren’t I?”

“Doing what?” Bitty said.

“Ruining things,” said Sweetie. “I’m -- I’m a ruiner. And you’re the sweetest thing on the face of this fucking Earth.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bitty said, again.

“Can’t we just go back to the sexy picture taking?” Sweetie said. “I liked that. Those blue shorts are nothing short of perfection.”

“You’re not ruining me.” Bitty stretched his legs back out.

“But I will.” Sweetie’s voice was almost a whisper.

“I wanna hold you,” Bitty said. “I’ll be your big spoon. It’s gonna be okay.”

Sweetie let out a gentle breath. “Will you -- will you read to me, just this once?”

Bitty smiled. “Yes, baby,” he said. “Let me just get my copy of _Harry Potter_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [piesnpucks](http://piesnpucks.tumblr.com/) and [rhysiana](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com/) for beta-edits to this chapter. I truly appreciate your time!
> 
> Also, listen guys. I know the formatting looks funny. I haven't figured out the whole "making it look pretty when transferring it over" thing. Sorry about that!


	9. you know i have an appetite for sexy things

Sweetie called the next evening, just after dinner. Bitty ducked outside to sit on the porch, taking a glass of water with him. “Hey there,” he said, sitting down on the porch swing.

“Hey, you,” Sweetie said, his voice calm like always. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful.” Bitty pushed his feet against the boards of the porch, setting the swing in motion. It creaked gently. “Yours? You feel better today?”

Sweetie groaned a little. “ _ God _ . I mean, yeah, I’m fine. But I’m -- I’m sorry. About last night. I --”

“It’s okay,” Bitty said. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” A light breeze ruffled his hair.

Sweetie let out a quiet little laugh. “Stop doing that,” he said.

“Doin’ what?”

“Being so -- sweet. I’m supposed to be the sweet one. You’re making me look bad, and I’m already embarrassed.”

“You could never look bad,” Bitty said, grinning a little.

“Stop it,” Sweetie said. “C’mon now. Tell me about your day?”

“Mm…” Bitty related his day at camp, and how he hated fishing, and how glad he was that it was over with, and he was just getting to some of the conversations he’d been forced to endure when he realized that he could hear… music? Something. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Tunin’ m’guitar,” Sweetie answered, voice muffled. A pause followed, and then when he spoke again he sounded normal. “Well. I’m restringing and then tuning. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Is that why you sound funny?”

“I have a bad habit of holding stuff in my mouth,” Sweetie said.

Bitty laughed. “I bet you do,” he said.

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” said Sweetie, and then he said nothing else and Bitty could hear squeaky noises. “You’re such a brat.” His tone was fond. “So, go on. You were telling me about fishing with your dad. Which, hope you don’t mind if I say, sounds awful?”

Bitty sighed. “Yeah, so…”

Things went back to normal. Their phone calls continued, sometimes skipping nights here and there when one of them was busy. Their late-night phone calls escalated fairly regularly into what Bitty supposed was what people were talking about when they mentioned ‘phone sex’ -- and honestly, Bitty would’ve been okay with it had it happened even more often. He loved the soft sounds Sweetie made, loved having the ability to drive him crazy just by telling him all the things he liked to imagine them doing together. It was a small sort of high, knowing he had that kind of power, but it went both ways. Sweetie knew how to push Bitty’s buttons, too.

Text messaging and Snapchat photos increased, and Bitty even managed to save a single post-run snap Sweetie sent. They talked about camp and Georgia and Sweetie’s dinner plans. Once he apologized for his mother calling and ended their phone call quite abruptly, but given that Bitty couldn’t remember hearing that Sweetie had spoken to his family very often, he couldn’t be anything but pleased to hear that she’d called. When he asked about it the next day, Sweetie muttered something about his ‘mom’s husband’ that suggested the conversation hadn’t been entirely amazing.

Sweetie continued his request series, putting out new videos at least weekly. A few days after his birthday, he posted a new cover video, this one done in a green plaid shirt and jeans, slouched on the sofa. It was  _ Passenger _ by Deftones, and Sweetie admitted before the song that it was a bit different, again, from his normal tunes. “These requests have been challenging,” he said. “I’m enjoying it. Thanks.” The video that followed it was a request from mrpotatohead7, this time for a cover of  _ Falling Slowly _ by Glen Hansard. It was a nighttime video again, one with the same golden lamplit glow as the  _ Landslide _ video Bitty loved so much.

The camera focused in on Sweetie’s hands, the light playing over his skin and making the smooth movement of muscle beneath skin obvious. Bitty leaned his chin in his hand, listening as Sweetie sang the sweet lyrics. It was a beautiful song, and a great choice for him. Whoever requested it was a genius.

It was heavily voted up by the time Bitty viewed it that evening. Commenters seemed to enjoy the folksy vibe, and mrpotatohead7 wrote  _ song is perfect, exactly how i thought. you look so handsome, should cover more in that style. sorry for my english. :) _

July was quickly turning into August, every day bringing Bitty closer to going back to school even as the summer heat blazed on. He had back-to-school shopping scheduled with his mother, something Sweetie seemed surprised to hear he enjoyed. “You’re looking forward to going shopping with your mom?” he’d asked. “That’s so cute.”

“Yeah, well, we always do that kind of thing together -- it’s fun goin’ out with her.”

Sweetie laughed. “Yeah? Are you gonna get mother-son pedicures, too?”

“That’s a great idea,” said Bitty, “but I think I’ll go with a haircut first.”

After being coy about what kind of haircut he was getting, Bitty ended up sending Sweetie a selfie right after, with the caption  _ What d’you think? :D _ across the bottom. He didn’t hear back for a few hours, and even then Sweetie only sent back an extremely long string of heart-eyed emojis.

That evening, Sweetie called Bitty first.

“Hey, darlin’,” Bitty said, picking up just after throwing himself down on his bed. “How’re you?”

“I’m fine,” Sweetie said. He took a quick breath. “I love your hair.”

Bitty grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It looks… great. You look great,” Sweetie said, voice a bit husky. 

“Yeah?” Bitty grinned harder, running a hand over his hair. “You really like it, huh?”

“Yeah,” Sweetie said. “Um --  _ yeah _ . I was already thinking about you, but that’s -- it’s -- yeah.”

“Oh?” A shiver of anticipation ran down Bitty’s spine. “You were thinking about me?”

Sweetie let out a heated breath. “Yeah.”

“What were you thinking about?” he asked.

“Just -- you,” Sweetie said softly. “Your voice. Your ass in those blue shorts. What you sound like when you come.”

Maybe it was the heat. Moo Maw always said that something came over people in a heat wave. Maybe it was that rough drag in Sweetie’s voice, that obvious pull of desire that always brought something hot twisting to life in Bitty’s stomach. Whatever the reason, Bitty was struck with a certain impulse, and before he knew it, the words came tumbling out of his mouth. “Skype me,” he said, “with video. Now.”

“I --”

Bitty hung up and turned his Skype on quickly, pressing the button to initiate a video call. He ran a hand over his hair and re-settled himself carefully on his bed after locking the door, waiting for Sweetie to pick up the call. It took a few rings, but eventually the call connected.

The video picked up in a bedroom that Bitty couldn’t remember ever seeing in any of Sweetie’s videos. Sweetie’s camera was facing a smooth headboard with slim rectangular cutout windows above it, dark from the late hour. The sheets, from what he could see, were smooth and white and grey and a small stack of books sat on the nightstand next to the bed. He couldn’t see Sweetie anywhere, but he noticed the French-language copy of  _ Harry Potter et le Prisonnier d’Azkaban  _ at the top of the book stack.

“Hello?” said Bitty.

Sweetie cleared his throat from somewhere off camera. “Ah -- so, I, um. I’ve never done this before,” he said. “And, um. I’m not sure --”

“You don’t have to show me your face,” Bitty said.

“No?”

“No. But I’d like to see the rest of you.”

“Mmm.” Sweetie shut the light off in what Bitty assumed was his room, and the pale glow from the laptop wasn’t enough to betray him as he climbed onto the bed. Once he’d settled in with the camera trained right at chest level, he reached over and flicked on a bedside lamp. Gold-tinted light flooded over him, illuminating a soft grey t-shirt stretched over a muscular chest. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Bitty said. He ran a hand over his hair again. “How are you?”

Sweetie let out a low, warm chuckle. “You just wanna ask me how I am?”

“No,” Bitty admitted, his own voice a bit rough, “I want you to take your shirt off.”

Sweetie barely hesitated before gripping the hem of his t-shirt and quickly pulling it off over his head, stretching his torso as he did so. He tossed it somewhere in the room. “Like this?” Leaning back, he let the light hit the chiseled muscles of his abs, stretching both arms up behind him.

Bitty took a soft breath. “Yeah,” he said. “And --”

“And?” Sweetie leaned forward a little, the camera catching the angle of his collarbones, and Bitty could not, for the life of him, remember what he was going to say.  _ God _ , he was hot. It was actually  _ unfair _ how hot he was. “Is this a one-way thing? You want me to strip for you?”

Bitty felt his mouth curve in a smile. “Yeah,” he said, “I do want that. But it doesn’t have to be a one-way thing.” He slid his shirt off over his head, part of him amazed that he’d consider doing something like that and part of him annoyed that he hadn’t done it earlier. 

“It can be,” Sweetie said softly, “if you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Heat bloomed in Bitty’s stomach. He swallowed. “Whatever I want?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Sweetie said, and he sounded so  _ sure _ .

Bitty took another breath. “You said you were thinking about me,” he said.

“Mmhmm.” Sweetie leaned back again, gently dragged one hand down his chest. “I was. Have been.” His hand slid off camera, lower than the angle could capture. “Is that okay?”

“Yes.” Bitty bit his lower lip. “What were you doing, when you were thinking about me?” He paused. “Show me.”

Sweetie hesitated for the barest hint of a second before turning the computer a little as he left the bed. The camera focused on the stack of books for a half second before he turned it again, just in time to catch sight of him as he slid out of his worn jeans. He was wearing those Calvin Klein boxer briefs again, the ones from the first time he’d sent Bitty a post-run Snapchat, and it was obvious that he was hard.

Bitty’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re so gorgeous,” he said.

A soft huff of air that could’ve been the ghost of a laugh answered him. Sweetie hooked his thumb into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Go on,” Bitty said.

Sweetie dragged his hand down slowly, practically peeling the fabric away from his skin. The tattoo on his left hip became visible only once the boxer briefs were all the way off, sliding down muscular thighs and dropping to the floor. It was five interlocking different colored rings, and Bitty realized with a start that they were the  _ Olympic _ rings. Was Sweetie an Olympian? What sport? What year? He opened his mouth to ask but found himself unable to concentrate on what the tattoo could mean as the camera was now focusing on Sweetie’s entirely, gloriously,  _ incredibly _ naked body.

He was  _ perfect _ . All muscle, every inch of him, hard lines and smooth skin and the golden hair that Bitty knew came with being a natural blond. Bitty let himself stare, forgetting for a moment that he was on camera, too, that this was live and real and Sweetie -- Sweetie could hear and see him. 

“... Eric?” Sweetie’s voice broke through Bitty’s haze after a long moment of silence. He’d lifted a hand to the back of his neck, and there was a red flush to his neck that suggested embarrassment.

Bitty sucked his lower lip in under his teeth for just a second. His shorts felt too tight. “Touch yourself,” he murmured, keeping his voice low.

“Where?” Sweetie let his hand slide around to the front of his neck and then down his chest, tightening his thumb and index finger around one pink nipple. “Here?”

“You beautiful man,” Bitty said. “Yes. Go on.”

Sweetie sent his hands gliding down his sides slowly until his fingers brushed against the muscular tops of his thighs. He curled one hand around his cock, giving it a long, even stroke.

“Turn around,” Bitty said, voice a bit hoarse, “and show me your ass.”

Sweetie turned, putting one hand out to brace himself on the wall behind him as he leaned forward, tilting his hips back as he spread his legs.

“God,” Bitty breathed, “you’re perfect.” He shifted on his bed, staring at the computer screen. “Sweetie,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Spread your knees.” Bitty’s face heated as the words left his mouth, but Sweetie moved instantly. “Now I… I want you to suck two fingers into your mouth.” God, he felt dirty. In an incredible way. Bitty hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Get your fingers all nice and soaking wet for me.” 

The catch in Sweetie’s breath was audible but Bitty could see his hand moving. After a moment a soft “And now?” filtered through the speakers.

“Now,” Bitty murmured, hands going to his shorts to push them down, freeing his own cock, trying to remember things he’d heard people say in videos. “Wrap your hand around your cock again for me.”

Sweetie shuddered a little as his hand slid down, fingers curving. 

“That’s right,” Bitty said. “Start slow.” He paused. “D’you like that?”

“Nnnnhh.” Sweetie bent his head down, letting out a huff of air. “Yes, yes.”

“What do you want from me?” Bitty asked.

A quiet groan shuddered through the speaker.

“Sweetie,” he said. “What do you want from me?”

“I --” A gasp. “I want you to fuck me, Eric,  _ god _ , I --”

“Yeah?” Fuck, he was hot. Bitty paused for a moment, just sliding his hand up and down his cock, drinking in the sight of Sweetie doing the same. It was one thing to hear it, but  _ seeing _ him… “Show me how you want it,” Bitty said. “Put your fingers in your mouth again. Get them sopping wet.” A muffled moan confirmed what he couldn’t see. “Like that. Now rub your fingers on your hole, baby -- push inside…” Sweetie slid his finger into his ass. Bitty’s breath caught for a second before he let out a soft groan. “Mmmmm, really like that.” He took another breath, still blushing even though he knew that Sweetie could not see his face. “Open up your ass for me.”

Sweetie leaned his forehead on the wall, moaning a little louder as he slid his fingers in and out of his ass, muscles tightening in his thighs. Without Bitty’s prompting he added a second finger, rocking his hips back to push them deeper. “Eric --” His voice was a quiet whine. “Fuck-- I -- I have a --”

A what? It was a fantasy come true. He could only imagine what Sweetie wanted to add. “Get it,” Bitty said.

Sweetie was off camera for only the barest of moments before he was back, facing the wall and inching a silver plug into his ass. 

“Oh,” Bitty breathed, “you dirty boy. You had that handy.” He twisted his wrist, slipping his thumb over and around the head of his dick. “Were you using that earlier, thinking about me?”

The plug was halfway in and Sweetie tilted his head back, panting. “Y-yes,” he admitted, “yes. Want you.”

“Imagining that's my cock, huh?”

Sweetie shuddered, twisted the plug. “Nnnghh.” His other hand found his dick again. “Yes, yeah, please--”

Now that he’d gotten used to the talking, to the filthiness of it, the words just kept coming, fueled by the beautiful response as well as his own desire. “Yes, baby… fuck your ass and stroke yourself for me, baby,” Bitty murmured, his hand tightening around his own cock. “That's it. Want you to come for me.” 

Sweetie gasped. The plug slid in all the way and he braced himself against the wall again, the slick sound of his hand stroking his cock filtering through Bitty's speakers. He was getting louder, whimpers turning into groans.

“Want you to come with my name on your lips. Want you to say who makes you feel so damn good --” They were both picking up speed then, hands moving in tandem.

“I --” Sweetie’s words broke off in a groan.

“Say it.”

“ _ Eric _ \--” The hand against the wall curled into a fist.

“You’re so hot,” Bitty gasped, leaning back as he let his hand move freely, no longer attempting to draw things out. “You’re -- so amazing.  _ God _ . Come. Come for me.”

“Fuck --” Sweetie’s muscles tightened, his shoulders seizing up as he came into his hand, gasping. Bitty wasn't far behind. He slumped against his pillow, head tipped back against his headboard for a moment. Sweetie’s breathing slowly filtered into his consciousness, heavy and gasping, and Bitty leaned forward again after a long moment.

“Hey,” he said softly, “Sweetie, you okay?” On screen, Sweetie was still braced against the wall, face buried against his arm. He nodded, the movement gentle and small.

“I’m okay.” A breath. “Fuck. I need to -- give me a minute.” Taking a step away from the wall, Sweetie quickly disappeared from view. While he was gone, Bitty quickly attempted to clean himself up, tossing tissues into his trash can and pulling on pajamas.

The computer rotated and Sweetie was in bed again, still shirtless but now wearing those soft blue pants that Bitty remembered from a video. Seated with legs crossed loosely, Sweetie held a tall glass of water and leaned against his headboard. “Hey,” he murmured.

A hot blush bloomed on Bitty’s cheeks. “Hey,” he repeated. Swallowing, he rubbed the back of his neck. “So that was, um. Was it -- was that okay?”

That warm chuckle slid through Bitty’s speakers. “Yeah, babe,” Sweetie said, voice like honey. “More than okay.” 

Biting his lower lip, Bitty tilted his head. He'd been so… bossy. It was dirty and wonderful, but -- “Are you sure?” he asked.

Sweetie leaned on one hand. “Eric,” he said gently, “I liked it. Did you?”

Bitty nodded. “It was… great,” he admitted. Glancing down at his bed, he toyed with the edge of a sheet. “Do you think we could do it again some time?”

Sweetie sighed. “Any time you want,” he said. “If I can.” The edges of his voice were rough, and he moved to set his water glass aside. “But I’m totally gonna fall asleep in about two seconds here.”

“Already?” Bitty laughed. “But you didn’t read to me, yet!”

That gentle laugh curled its way around his heart. “Okay, okay. One chapter. But that’s it, I’m all worn out, you know.” Sweetie reached for the book, flopping it open easily on his lap. He said nothing for a long moment. 

“Hey, Eric?”

“Mm?”

“I --” Sweetie paused and then swallowed roughly. “Never mind. I found the spot.” Lifting the book he began reading in French, voice gentle and quiet.

Bitty fell asleep before Sweetie finished the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [rhysiana](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com), [piesnpucks](http://piesnpucks.tumblr.com/), and [editingatwork](http://editingatwork.tumblr.com/) for beta reading/editing this chapter for me.
> 
> Also, hold on to your hats. The epikegster... is coming.


	10. i've only ever had this fucking feeling in my stomach twice

It was a relief, heading back to Samwell. Going back to the Haus and his friends and people he was, well, _out_ to really lifted his spirits. It wasn’t that Bitty didn’t love his parents, it was just that sometimes being home in Georgia felt stifling. He’d missed the Haus. He’d missed hockey. He’d missed his _friends_.

And, honestly, he was looking forward to being able to talk to Sweetie back at the Haus without worrying about how he’d explain him. Even if someone _did_ overhear them, nobody would think it was weird at all -- probably. Meeting someone online wasn’t what it was back in the early 2000s. Bitty didn’t think anyone at the Haus would think it odd to find his door locked. Hell, Ransom and Holster would probably be **thrilled** if they knew why.

Once unpacked, Bitty gave Sweetie a video-tour of his room. They talked about his classes and hockey practice and the new freshmen and how Sweetie had purchased some little slip-on claw caps for his cat. Both their schedules seemed to pick up activity around the same time -- it wasn’t long after Bitty’s classes started that Sweetie started going to bed earlier, though that could hardly dampen anything between them. If anything, things only accelerated. Sometimes Sweetie sent him postcards from the cities he visited. Bitty learned _not_ to check his Snapchat in class and Sweetie learned that Bitty had a particular appreciation for in-shower videos.

Bitty’s games -- and the semester -- began to pass in a whirlwind, with classes and tests and practice and matches all running together with many nights spent tucked under covers, phone to his ear. Sweetie **demanded** Bitty watch _Hocus Pocus_ with him and so he did, both of them on voice chat and repeating lines to each other. Bitty baked Halloween treats and sent Snaps of them to Sweetie, who in return sent him a photo of his cat dressed up as a lobster.

“Why a lobster?” he’d asked.

“Because she’ll love me for life,” Sweetie explained. “She’s my little lobster.”

Everything seemed great.

Hockey practice was, unfortunately, **not** going great.

He’d always had a little trouble with checking, but passing out? That was new. Leaving the coaches’ office after a post-practice chat, Bitty made his way outside, struggling to keep the tears at bay until he got there. Sniffling into his sweatshirt sleeve, he took out his phone and pressed the ‘call’ button on his most recent call.

It took a few rings, but Sweetie picked up. “Hey, you,” he said, and Bitty could hear people in the background. Several, from of the sound of it. He couldn’t remember hearing anyone in the background any other time he’d called. When he didn’t answer immediately, Sweetie swallowed. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re busy,” said Bitty. “I can ca--”

“It’s fine.” Sweetie covered the phone with his hand, but Bitty could hear a muffled _no, I have to take this, it’s important_ before the extra sound in the background disappeared. “All right,” Sweetie said gently, “now. Tell me. What’s the matter?”

“It’s just…” Bitty took a deep breath and let the words pour out of him like oil. He told Sweetie how the coaches had called him into the office to discuss the checking situation. Hockey was a contact sport. He had ‘issues with physicality’.

“... And they said that hockey might not be what’s best for me. Or the team.” Bitty sniffled again.

“Oh, sunshine.” Sweetie let out a windy sigh. “You like playing hockey, don’t you?”

“Yeah…” Bitty took a breath. “I love it. A lot more than I thought I would.”

“It’s hard,” Sweetie said, voice very soft, “when doing something you love is painful. Isn’t it?”

Bitty scrubbed at his eyes. “Yeah. It sucks.”

“I know.” Sweetie took a breath. “Babe, you can do this, all right? You got better before. Aren’t you having checking practice again?”

“I’m scared,” Bitty said, dodging the question. Yes, Jack had started checking practice again. Thinking about it at that moment, though...

“I know,” Sweetie said. He paused. “You wanna talk about something else?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said.

“Okay.” There was only a tiny beat of silence before Sweetie changed the topic. “What’re you doing the rest of the day?”

“Homework, I guess. Working out. Probably baking six stress pies.” Bitty laughed.

“You want me to play for you for a while?”

Bitty let out a soft gasp. “ _Really_ ?” Sweetie **never** offered live guitar, not ever. Any time Bitty asked, he’d always said it was embarrassing.

“Yeah, lemme -- uh, lemme get home in a little bit, and I’ll play for you. Okay?”

“Yeah,” said Bitty.

“Go back to the Haus,” Sweetie said, not unkindly. “You’ll freeze out there on the stoop, love.”

 _Love_. Bitty flushed. “All right,” he said.

Leaving the stoop, he headed for the Haus.

It took Sweetie a while to get home. Bitty was finished with dinner and in his room, half-heartedly reading a chapter for one of his classes when the phone rang. He picked up immediately. “Took you long enough,” he said, tone light.

Sweetie laughed. “Hi, honey,” he said. “I’m home.” The sound of a door closing filtered through, followed by the jangle of keys being dropped on a table. “Missed me terribly?”

“Of course,” Bitty said.

Sweetie laughed. “Of course. Whatcha doin?”

“Homework,” Bitty said.

“So you’re baking,” said Sweetie easily.

“Have you been at work?” Bitty asked, feigning innocence.

“Yeah --” They talked about his day a little, but it wasn’t long before Bitty was reclining on his bed, telling Sweetie all about the upcoming Hazeapalooza. Well, as much as he could, anyway. Soft guitar music started up in the background, and Bitty soon fell silent, just listening. He laid on his bed and looked up at the ceiling for a while before suddenly sitting upright. He _knew_ that song.

 _Beauty and the Beast_. He’d been unconsciously humming along before it hit him. Sweetie was playing Disney songs! “Is that --”

“Yes,” Sweetie said, voice sounding a bit far away. “And I’m concentrating, so. Read for school, or something. You can put me on speaker. Or you can put me on Skype if you want.” The guitar music continued, flowing smoothly into _A Whole New World_.

“You’re the best,” Bitty said.

“Nah.” Sweetie kept playing. “Second best. After you, of course.” His voice was warm, like sunshine pouring through a window. “Go do some math.”

Bitty moved to his desk and focused on his calculus after linking them both through into a Skype call. Sweetie was tucked into the arm of his sofa, the laptop camera only allowing Bitty to see his legs and the edge of the guitar. They sat together for a while, Bitty at his desk and Sweetie in the living room, playing slowly through semi-correct acoustic guitar arrangements of Disney songs. Now and again he would laugh and start over, muttering about not having arranged some things entirely.

It was the least perfect Bitty had ever seen him, and he loved every minute of it.

Hockey and Sweetie’s job put a damper on their video… dates. It was easier to stick to telephone calls, and Bitty found that the anticipation of the rarer video calls made them even hotter. No matter what they did, Sweetie always said he would do whatever Bitty wanted.

“But what if I just wanna do what you want?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like -- like our first time, just… the opposite?”

Sweetie’s warm laugh rolled over him. “Oh. In **that** case…”

Some of the looks Bitty got at the breakfast table that morning suggested that he might want to be a little more quiet.

Bitty and Sweetie watched _Steel Magnolias_ together on their laptops with a video chat on, despite Bitty’s preoccupation with his Thanksgiving plans and Sweetie’s leaving his camera pointed at his chest. “And of course,” Bitty said, toying with Señor Bun’s ears, “pumpkin pie. D’you like pumpkin pie? Are you gonna have it at your Thanksgiving?”

“Oh,” Sweetie said, “I’m probably just gonna stay home for Thanksgiving. My mom and Dan, uh. They like to -- it was just, um. It was a little awkward, last time?”

Bitty frowned. “Awkward?”

“In a fourth wheel kind of way,” Sweetie said. He sighed. “It’s just -- you know, they met when I was already out of the house. Their family is pretty separate from me. Anyway, you can just tell me all about your menu. I’ll pretend I like sweet potato casserole.”

“You don’t like sweet potato _casserole_?” Bitty gasped. “Not even --”

“Especially not with marshmallows,” Sweetie interrupted. He laughed as Bitty made scandalized noises on the other end of the line. “Maybe you’ll change my mind one day,” he added. “If you want.”

“What, meet in person?”

There was a stretch of silence between them, nothing but the movie playing in the background. “I want to,” Sweetie said softly. “I know it’s --”

“Me too,” Bitty said, and he realized that it was intensely true. He smiled. “You know you’d have to tell me your whole name, though?”

“I know.” Sweetie sighed. “That’s not gonna be a problem. You’ll see. Swear to god, Eric.”

If there was anything he’d learned about Sweetie over the past year, it was that every time Sweetie said _swear to god, Eric_ , he meant it. Did that mean that Sweetie was planning on coming clean soon? Bitty cleared his throat.

“I’d expect you to wear a tie,” he said. “To Thanksgiving, I mean.”

“Oh, of course,” Sweetie said. “Nothing but the best, obviously.” He paused and then lowered his voice. “So, just a tie, then? This our own private Thanksgiving?”

Bitty gasped. “ _Dirty!_ ”

Sweetie laughed.

Hausgiving turned out to be… perfect. Bitty’s pecan pies were exceptional, everyone dressed nicely, and Shitty even made it back in time to celebrate. That night, after dinner, Bitty pushed play on the newest video on Sweetie’s channel entitled “fuck my life.”

“All right,” Sweetie said, seated cross-legged on a hotel bed. “So, uh. We’re done with the requests now, so -- I’m gonna cover something I originally covered on here a while ago. Happy Thanksgiving or whatever.” He launched into the chords for _Angel of Mine_ when the sound of the door opening broke through.

“Man, can you please play something that rocks?” a man stopped right in front of the camera. “Dude. **Monica**? For real? Gimme that --” he reached for the guitar.

“Oh my god, Jeff. What the hell? Get off -- No --” a struggle ensued that ended with Sweetie sitting off to one side while an obviously taller man held his guitar.

“Just a little bit, man. You should’ve told me you were bringing this, I could’ve brought mine --” He started playing _Stairway to Heaven_. “We can jam, you know?”

Sweetie groaned. “ _Stairway_? For real? I’m --” a phone started ringing in the background.

Jeff stopped playing and picked up the phone. “Looks like, uh.. Eric Peach Sparkle Heart Cake Emoji is calling you?” He elbowed Sweetie. “Man. Do we need to ta--”

“Gimme that!” Sweetie jumped for the phone and the video cut off.

Bitty grinned. Out of curiosity he clicked back through Sweetie’s channel, finding the original video recording of _Angel of Mine_. It was posted in 2009. After pushing play, Bitty left his desk to put away the laundry he’d set on his bed earlier. The audio on the older videos wasn’t as clear as it was on newer ones, and after a moment or two, he returned to the laptop to turn it up.

Sweetie was in what looked like an apartment, but it wasn’t a backdrop readily familiar to Bitty. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and the video was mostly just a straight shot of him holding the guitar, cutting off at about shoulder level. His playing was a bit more hesitant, but his voice was sweet. Bitty smiled, returning to his laundry.

After a minute, a voice at his door startled him.

“What are you listening to?”

“Oh, Jack! Hi!” Bitty grinned. “Just a youtube cover guy I like. This song’s pretty old, does that mean you know it?” He headed for his closet.

Jack looked at the laptop screen, face placid. “Do you know who he is?” he asked, voice flat -- even for him.

“Uh.” Something in him just didn’t want to come right out and say. Bitty laughed. “He never shows his face.” It was a dodge, he knew that, but it was technically true. He turned and hung up a few shirts, hoping the heat in his face would die down by the time he turned back around.

“Oh,” said Jack. “All right.” He glanced at the laptop again before looking back to Bitty. He cleared his throat. “Make sure you go to bed early. We have a game tomorrow.”

“I know that, Captain Zimmermann,” Bitty said.

“Good night,” Jack said.

“’Night.”

When he called Sweetie later, after he was tucked between covers with all the lights out, Bitty sighed. “Jack saw one of your videos today,” he confessed. “He asked if I knew you.”

“Oh,” said Sweetie. “What’d you say?”

“I didn’t,” Bitty said. “I didn’t say.”

“Oh,” said Sweetie again.

“It’s not that -- it’s not that I don’t want people to know about you,” Bitty added, rushing to get the words out. “It’s just that, um. I kind of like it like this, you know?”

“Like what?”

“It’s just nice. Having something that’s just… mine.”

Sweetie let out a little laugh. After a small moment of silence, he spoke again. “I am, you know,” he said, voice very soft.

“What’s that?” Bitty asked.

“Yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much [piesnpucks](http://piesnpucks.tumblr.com) and [rhysiana](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com) for beta edits. And thank you, also, [zimmboniandbitty](http://zimmboniandbitty.tumblr.com) for being the best sounding board ever.


	11. i'll tell you all my secrets if you stick around

Setting a padded envelope on his desk, Bitty grabbed his bag and ran for his door -- he was already late for his afternoon class. He’d gotten postcards from Sweetie before, but an envelope was new. The weight of it suggested a present and it was postmarked two days prior, but Holster had forgotten to give it to him when he’d signed for it. Bitty hesitated for a moment, looking back at his desk before sighing. He was already late! He didn’t have time!

It was a busy day. Every time he thought about running back home to open his present, there was something else he just  **had** to do. Bitty struggled through his classes, eyes on the clock. He tried his best to be attentive during hockey practice, but knowing they had the kegster that night kept throwing him off. If he wanted to get  _ anything _ done in his kitchen he’d have to do it beforehand, and that included hiding all the good dishes. It would be impossible to get in there once the kegster started, and Bitty knew the Haus kitchen would need an extreme cleaning after the kegster before it could be considered suitable for baking again. By the time he was done with everything he needed to do and ready to sit down and open his mail… someone was hollering his name up the stairs.

And the kegster? The kegster was… mind boggling.

Leaning up against the wall, Bitty grinned up at Jack as he told an animated story about the last Epikegster. Honestly, it was a shock that Jack was down at the party at all, and Bitty couldn’t help but slide a little closer to him, liking the brightness of his face. Why was he so adorable? It felt special, standing so close, both of them holding cups of the unidentifiable tub juice, drinking and laughing. Jack regaled him with the tale of his heroism, dragging dudes out of the Haus and brandishing fire extinguishers. Bitty’s whole heart felt warm listening to him. He could’ve stayed there all night, slowly getting drunk and listening to Jack tell stories.

“Good lord, I’m tweeting that,” Bitty said as Jack finished a story. Glancing over, he smiled. “I’m surprised you’re not chirping me for having my nose buried in my phone.”

“Well. If it’s out. We should take a... “selfie”, or something, together.” Jack smiled back.

“ _ There _ it is,” Bitty said. He laughed. He  _ knew _ there would be a chirp in there somewhere --

“I’m serious! You know. Like, ‘Bitty’s first big kegster’... You could put it on your blog.” Jack hunched his shoulders a little, a light flush creeping over his cheeks. Bitty lifted his phone as Jack continued. “I mean, I don’t get selfies, but you’ve --”

“I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t seeing it myself,” a smooth voice cut into their conversation. “Jack Zimmermann. At a party.  _ Taking a selfie _ .”

Jack turned toward the voice immediately. “Kent.” His story cut off instantly as he pulled away from Bitty.

“Hey, Zimms.” Kent Parson, easily recognizable from television and internet hockey coverage, smiled at Jack. He was even more perfect-looking in person than he was in photographs, all cheekbones and blond hair and curving smile. “Didja miss me?”

“Oh my goodness!” Bitty grinned, already tweeting about the new arrival. Pushing away from the wall, he could see Ransom coming over already, apparently in shock. No doubt there was going to be an  _ epic _ explanation of who was causing all the ruckus, thanks in part to the group of frogs and girls surrounding Holster. Bitty made sure his cup was full before stepping in closer to Chowder.

“So, like,” Holster was saying, “he’s probably tied for first when it comes to best living hockey player right now --”

“ _ Probably  _ tied,” Ransom broke in.

“Currently leading the league in points and assists --”

“-- Bro, currently on a 31-game point streak --”

“-- the Aces record book is just his name.”

“That’s who everyone is talking about.” Holster jerked his chin in Kent’s direction. He was taking a selfie with a rather excited young lady, arm casually thrown around her shoulder without closing the distance between their bodies. His smile was easy and relaxed; hers was starstruck.

Honestly, Bitty couldn’t blame her at all. Parson was incredibly famous as well as handsome. There was an entire tumblr devoted to his eyebrows. He was talented and clean-cut and who  _ didn’t _ want a selfie with him? Blaming it on the tub juice, Bitty worked up his nerve and stepped up next to Kent. “I know you’ve been doin’ this all night, but… would you mind taking a picture with me?”

“Of course not,” Kent said. There was something in his voice that tugged at Bitty’s memory, and his smiled warmed his face. He held Bitty’s gaze for a moment. “I’d be happy to.”

Bitty flushed. “Great!” He held his phone up as Kent slid an arm around him, pulling him into a loose side hug. The heat of his skin seeped through Bitty’s hoodie, bringing the scent of his cologne with it -- fresh, clean, classy. “Come to a lot of college parties?” Bitty asked, glancing at Kent again once the photo op was over.

“Oh,” said Kent, his hand lingering on Bitty’s shoulder for a bare second, “nah. I just drove down to see Jack before my game tomorrow.” He smiled softly, eyes flicking down to Bitty’s hands and then back up to his face, and Bitty suddenly felt like he was the only person in the room. “I’m sure he’s, you know. Got a lot on his mind.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, “I guess picking a team is hard work. But you know all about that, right?”

Kent laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I know about that.” He sucked his lower lip in a second, worrying it with his teeth before leaning a little closer. “Um --”

A guy bumped into Bitty and almost dumped a full cup of tub juice down his shirt. “Oh man -- sorry bro!” he said. Looking at Kent, he grinned. “Yo, you’re Kent Parson! Holy  _ shit _ !”

Like a spell breaking, Kent’s face brightened immediately and he laughed again, turning away from Bitty. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s me.”

It wasn’t long before Parson was moving away from him, already being asked to take pictures with the guy and his friends. Bitty took a long drink from his cup, hoping it would cool the flush in his cheeks. He could still feel the warmth of Parson’s arm around him, and a hint of his cologne lingered on Bitty’s hoodie. Taking in a steadying breath, Bitty thought about how he’d break it to Sweetie that he’d met  _ Kent Parson _ at the party. No doubt Sweetie would be jealous -- any hockey fan would, probably. Bitty smiled a little, imagining the bright laugh that his story of Parson’s losing to Lardo at flip-cup would receive. He was so much more gracious, so much more polite than he seemed on television. Sweetie would like that. He always liked to hear gentle things.

Realizing quite suddenly that he hadn’t seen Jack in a while, Bitty wove his way through the crowd of bodies in the Haus. He couldn’t find Jack anywhere. Had he left the party? It seemed like he was having such a good time before... Stepping out onto the porch, he caught sight of Shitty. “ **Shitty** !” he yelled. “Have you seen Jack?”

“Ahh,  _ damnit _ .” Shitty leaned back on the porch railing. “Poor guy probably didn’t wanna get caught in the selfie mill  _ Kent Parson _ started.”

Bitty frowned. “Oh,” he said. “I -- I sure hope he comes back. Kent Parson said he drove down just to see Jack before his game tomorrow…” He took a seat on the railing next to Shitty, carefully balancing his cup.

“... Listen, Bits… you should  _ know _ . Jack can get pretty jealous, okay?” Shitty frowned. He recounted Kent Parson’s last visit to the Haus and the way Jack had reacted… like how he used to treat  _ Bitty _ . “... and I fucking hate saying it. So that’s between you and me, all right?” Shitty glanced at him, catching sight of the phone in his hand. “.... Bits.”

“... I  _ swear _ I wasn’t sharing that.” Bitty frowned. Hopping down off the railing, Bitty dusted off the seat of his jeans. He sighed and brandished his phone. “I’m gonna put this thing in my room before I tweet anything stupid. If you see Jack, tell him to come find me, okay?” 

“Sure, Bits,” said Shitty. His parting shot was a warning to make sure Bitty locked his bedroom. Apparently, when Jack had warned Bitty about the last kegster, he wasn’t exaggerating. Bitty tucked his phone into his pocket and made for the stairs, working his way through the crowd.

He’d managed to get all the way to the top of the stairs before realizing that he didn’t feel his key in his pocket. Bitty paused in the landing, fishing around for his key. He’d put it  _ somewhere _ after locking his door, he knew that. Where was it? And --

Wait, was that Jack? Bitty frowned. Who would he be talking to, though? And upstairs?

“What about Las Vegas?”

“I - I don’t know, okay?”

A beat of silence passed. Bitty dug in his pocket for his key, cheeks burning. He shouldn’t be listening, everyone knew eavesdropping was  _ beyond _ rude, but --

“Kenny, I can’t do this.”

“Jack, come on.”

It wasn’t like he was  _ trying _ to overhear them! Bitty let out a soft breath and turned out his other pocket. Where the hell was the key? He needed to get out of the hallway. It was too much.

Whatever was happening in Jack’s room was escalating. “ _ Kenny _ \--”

“ -- Zimms, just fucking stop thinking for once and listen to me. I’ll tell the GMs you’re on board and they can free up cap space. Then you can be  **done** with this shitty team. You and me --”

“Get out.” Jack’s voice was hard.

“ -- Jack.”

The argument kept going, every sentence louder, more heated, and more pointed than the last. By that point in time, there wasn’t a way to pretend he wasn’t listening. Bitty gasped a little, turning to face Jack’s door in shock.

“You think you’re too fucked up to care about?”

Bitty’s breath caught in his throat.

“Everyone already  **knows** what you are.”

Bitty grit his teeth.

“You’re scared everyone else is going to find out you’re worthless, right? Oh, don’t worry. Just give it a few seasons, Jack. Trust me.”

His chest felt tight. How could Parson  _ say _ that to Jack? What the fuck? He’d seemed so… so  **nice** , before. Tightening his hand into a fist, his fingers closed on his key, finding it in the depths of his left pocket.

“G-get out of my room.”

“Fine. Shut me out again.”

“And -- and stay away from my team.”

The door handle rattled and Bitty jumped a little, losing his grip on his own door key. It bounced down to the floor.

“Why? Afraid I’ll tell them something?”

Bitty crouched to get his key, scrambling across the floor.

“ **Leave** , Parse.”

The door jerked open just as Bitty closed his fingers around his key. When he looked up, Kent Parson was staring down at him, expression unreadable. His blond hair was perfectly wild.

Clearing his throat, Parson slid his ballcap back on his head smoothly, stepping right past Bitty. “Hey. Well. Call me if you reconsider or whatever. But good luck with the Falconers.” He paused, taking a breath. “... I’m sure that’ll make your dad proud.” He stepped away and then strode out of the hallway without looking back.

When Bitty turned to Jack he was already leaving, door slamming quickly in Bitty’s face. He was alone in the hallway, holding his key to his chest. When he turned to look again, he couldn’t even see Parson’s retreating back.

Bitty swallowed and jammed his key into his door, quickly unlocking it. He stepped inside and shut it behind him, leaning his back against the wood. “Fuck,” he breathed. What the hell had he just  _ heard _ ? Bitty reached behind himself and flipped the lock on his door.

Screw the rest of the party. He threw himself onto his bed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Bitty sighed. He looked at the time. God, it wasn’t nearly as late as he’d thought. He pushed the button to call Sweetie.

For the first time in a while, it took more than one ring for him to pick up. “... Hello?”

“God,” Bitty said, “ _ sweetie _ .” 

“Hey, you.”

“You are  **never** going to believe my night…” he launched into recounting the night, starting with the party’s beginnings and how Jack had, for once, joined him in socializing. Throwing himself onto his bed, Bitty rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “And then,” he said, “and  _ then _ , you’re never gonna believe this, but --  **Kent Parson** showed up! Right? And he seemed so  _ cool _ !” He told Sweetie all about flip cup and the selfies and how Kent Parson was so polite when Bitty asked to take his picture. “He really had me fooled, I gotta say.” Bitty sighed. “I lost track of Jack somewhere, so I went to look for him ‘cause I wanted to see how he was…” the story quickly continued into what Bitty overheard in the hallway.

“And he just kept going,” Bitty said, pressing a hand to his eyes. “ _ God _ , I can’t believe this! Parson’s such an abusive, manipulative asshole -- and he called our team  _ shitty _ !! Can you believe that?” He heard what sounded like a scandalized breath float through the line. “I know! Like, just because we’re not professionals we must be  _ shitty _ ? We went to the playoffs! And -- poor Jack, he was just -- what must it have been  **like** for him back in juniors, playing with a guy like that?  _ Living _ with a guy like that? Everything makes so much sense now. God, I’m so  **glad** he didn’t --”

“I have to go,” Sweetie said, interrupting him suddenly. His voice sounded… soft. Sad.

Tired.

“Oh, honey,” Bitty said. He took a breath. “You’re worn out, aren’t you? I didn’t even ask, I’m so sorry.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Here I am just goin’ on and on -- you have a late night?”

“Yeah,” Sweetie said, and voice sounded… rough. “Something like that. Listen, Eric, I… you know I care about you. Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Bitty said, taming his voice into something gentle. “I know that. And I care about you, too. Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you this story later, okay? You get some rest. We can skip Harry Potter tonight.”

“Okay.” Sweetie’s breath sounded ragged. “I -- I’ll read to you next time. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Get some sleep, baby.”

“I --” Sweetie swallowed. “Good night, Eric.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.

After hanging up, Bitty considered his options. Returning to the kegster wasn’t too appealing after the events of the night -- how could he ever pretend to be normal after what he’d overheard? He felt like he’d had enough to drink, anyway, and he didn’t want to risk stepping into vomit by leaving the sanctity of his room. Letting his head flop to one side, he chewed on his lower lip. The envelope on his desk caught his eye.

Oh, right! He had mail from Sweetie! He’d forgotten about it in the rush of kegster-related activity. Pushing himself up, Bitty left his bed and deposited himself in his desk chair instead.

Picking up the envelope, Bitty slid a finger under the seal to open it. A folded piece of paper came to his hand first, which seemed unusual. Bitty frowned. Sweetie usually just sent postcards, not entire letters. What could it possibly say? He stared at it for a moment, but the envelope still felt weighty and fat, and curiosity over the hidden object won him over. Bitty set the letter aside and turned the envelope upside down, tipping it over his hand.

A ring tumbled out into his palm, hitting it heavily. It was  _ massive _ . Bitty turned the ring over in his hand and gasped as the light sparked off what had to be hundreds of tiny, glittering diamonds and polished silver metal. Christ, what was the thing  _ worth _ ? Large, blocky lettering curled around the edges of the ring, reading  _ Stanley Cup Champions _ . In the center of the ring’s face sat a large, gleaming onyx ace of spades set against a shimmering red ruby background.

_ Las Vegas _ . The side showed a relief of the Stanley Cup itself and the year -- 2010.

Bitty sucked in a breath, the letter all but forgotten. He tipped the ring in his hand and it fell on its other side, leaving blocky lettering to stare up at his face:

_ Parson  _

_ 90 _

“Oh my god,” Bitty whispered, stricken. “Sweetie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, god bless my beta readers.
> 
> It should go without saying but I'm not sure it does, so -- obviously I used N's canon dialogue from the comic for scenes at the epikegster. Those parts are likely to be familiar to y'all since we're all fans here, but I'll repeat the obvious and say that I did not write those dialogue portions myself. (:
> 
> Also, it's worth pointing out that now we're in December of 2014, which means Eric and Sweetie have been talking for an entire **year**. The date of the Epikegster is December 14, 2014.
> 
> That's gonna be important to you in about two seconds.


	12. everybody knows almost doesn't count

_ 12/10/14 _

_ Eric, _

_ I’m sending you this instead of calling because it’s the only way I can get it out. I’ve tried to tell you a thousand times now, but the words get stuck in my throat. I just want you to know. I can’t remember the last time I wanted something to work out so bad and all I have is a pile of papers covered in words that sound stupid and wrong. I know you know who I am, you just didn’t know he was me. _

_ When I told you I liked hockey, I could’ve been more specific. I’m a professional hockey player. I play for the Las Vegas Aces. My name is Kent Parson. Please don’t hate me. _

_ I know that this is probably a really stupid way to do this, but I’m not a smart guy and I won’t pretend that I am. Eric… Talking to you is the best part of my day. Whenever something good happens to me, I can’t wait to tell you about it. Whenever something bad happens to me, all I can think about is how much I want to hear your voice. I just want to be near you. You are my favorite person, pies and procrastination and all. You are the sunshine in my life. _

_ I want you to know that I don’t expect you to do anything drastic like tell everyone about me or come out of the closet before you’re ready. God knows I haven’t. And before I ask you to be mine, there’s a few things about my life that I want to change. _

_ We’re playing the Rangers on the 15th. I’ll come down to Samwell before. My hope is that we can talk about this then, face to face. It’s the weekend of your big party, so I know you’ll be busy -- but all I need is a minute of your time. If you don’t want to see me, if you don’t want to do this, if for some reason this is too much for you, I promise that I will understand. All you have to do is let me know. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be there. Nothing could make me happier. _

_ In hope, _

_ Kent _


	13. there's no way to lie to you, you know me better than i do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some homophobia and slurs in this chapter.

Staring at the ring, Bitty tried to comprehend the gesture and everything it meant. Kent sent the ring from his first Stanley Cup, one of his biggest accomplishments. Was it just the only thing he could think of that would prove that he was who he said he was? Bitty would’ve known he was telling the truth once they met. Was it meant to convey something about his feelings? They’d been talking for a long time -- _sleeping together_ , if one counted phone and Skype sex, for almost half a year. Setting it down, Bitty rubbed his face with his hands. God.

He’d just told the guy he was sleeping with that he was awful. Worse, really. Throwing himself onto his bed, Bitty rolled onto his back again. He turned the ring this way and that, watching the light sparkle over the jewels. Sliding it onto a finger, he held his hand up, letting out a soft sigh.

If he was honest with himself, Bitty would admit that even though he was falling harder for Jack every day, his feelings for Sweetie ran at least as deep. Deeper, probably. Bitty had allowed himself to be honest and vulnerable with Sweetie in a way that he hadn’t quite managed with anyone at Samwell. For once, he was regretting that level of honesty.

Despite his emotional stress, Bitty fell asleep with the ring still on. When he woke the Epikegster cleanup was well under way, right alongside plans for everyone to watch the Aces game that night.

“We have to watch Kent Parson play,” Holster said, “after all, he did --”

“ -- _Totally_ grace us with his presence, I know,” said Ransom.

The Rangers game was a big win for Vegas. He’d loved watching Kent play, before. He was smaller than a lot of other guys in the NHL, and he was fast. It was amazing to see someone like him play the game. Ransom and Holster spent an hour dissecting Kent Parson’s hat trick and Bitty -- Bitty spent the entire game on the verge of throwing up, running back and forth from the kitchen to ‘check on his pie’. Seeing Kent answering questions after the game in a rather wooden and rehearsed way did nothing to alleviate the feeling.

Kent Parson was always ‘on’. That was general hockey knowledge. His interviews were always perfect, he never broke the media training mold but somehow made it look real. That night, though, he went to press after the game without his characteristic smile.

“It was a good game” he said, face entirely placid. He looked tired, even for a guy who just finished playing hockey.

“First hat trick of the season,” the reporter said. “How are you feeling about that?”

“It was a good game,” Kent said again. His eyes were dark. “Everyone played well.”

Bitty couldn’t bring himself to call. Every time he picked up his phone to dial, he chickened out and put it back down. He’d read the letter a dozen times and each time somehow managed to feel worse than the last as he recalled the things he’d said to Kent. He analyzed every pen stroke. The fading scent of Kent’s cologne clung to the paper and every time he smelled it, Bitty recalled the feeling of Kent’s hand on his shoulder, the way he’d leaned closer.

Why hadn’t he opened his mail sooner? Why hadn’t he recognized Sweetie’s _voice_ ? What was he going to say before that guy bumped into him, before he walked away, before that conversation with Jack? Why did that conversation with Jack even _happen_?

He checked Sweetie’s channel for a new video every day. It took three days, but finally a single new cover popped up -- _Lay Me Down_ by Sam Smith. Oh, no. No, no. Bitty pushed play on a video of Sweetie wear a black sweater in a hotel room, curled up on the bed. “Sorry,” he said, grip on the honey-gold guitar in his lap tight, “I -- I was gonna sing this, but I just… I keep messing up. So, uh. Enjoy my first attempt at a fingerstyle cover.” It was beautiful, an instrumental cover like all the Disney ones he’d played for Bitty before.

He didn’t comment.

Bitty typed out text after text before deleting them. Everything he wrote seemed wrong, and so more and more time went by in silence. The last message in their text conversation was a string of rainbow colored heart emojis from Sweetie -- Kent, he reminded himself, it’s **Kent** \-- and every time Bitty looked at it his chest hurt.

Finals ran everyone into the ground, including Bitty. The distraction of schoolwork was, for once, entirely welcome. In an effort to keep his mind off of his pathetic excuse for a love life, he spent hours in the library just staying out of his room, attempting to study with Jack or Ransom. The end of the semester came and Bitty went back to Georgia, curling up at night reading silently through the chapter of _Harry Potter_ where Sweetie left off, the absence of his voice a heavy weight. He watched the latest instrumental Christmas carol cover -- _the Holly and the Ivy_ \-- posted from a hotel room again.

All of Sweetie’s videos were instrumental now, it seemed. He posted various Christmas songs without many comments, and none of the videos showed much of him other than his hands. The covers were all very beautiful, sweet, melancholy arrangements of familiar songs.

Bitty missed Sweetie’s voice. He missed being read to at night and the stupid way he pronounced the word ‘water’ and his laugh. Even so, he still couldn’t bring himself to call. How could he reconcile _Kent Parson_ with the man he’d been talking to for the last year? Everything he knew about Kent Parson was… well, hockey. It was all hockey. As it turned out, Bitty didn’t really know that much about Kent Parson at all. Looking him up online only revealed vague things Bitty already knew: he was from New York, he’d played hockey for a championship-winning Catholic high school before going into the QMJHL, he was an only child, his birthday was July fourth.

In the absence of anything of real substance, Bitty began searching YouTube for interviews. There were clips from Juniors, clips of Kent playing with Jack. The both of them looked so young, and Kent was so small at 16 or 17, even in his gear. He looked so different -- but so did Jack, his hair fluffy and his cheeks pink. Bitty played one of the clips five times over, just watching the two of them together.

No wonder there’d been rumors.

And then Bitty got to a video titled ‘Aces draft Kent Parson’, and there he was. Wearing a grey suit and a blue tie, Kent stood when they called his name. His smile was small, and he hugged a short blond woman and shrugged out of his suit jacket before walking toward the stage. According to the announcer, that was his mother, Nicolette. Kent shook hands with every person down a long line of men in suits on the stage. One of them handed him an Aces jersey and he quickly pulled it on over his white shirt and blue tie.

Bitty took in a sharp breath. _That fucking blue tie_ , he’d said. Bitty remembered hearing those words clearly. Kent had gone from the hospital waiting room straight to an important event, wearing the same blue tie he’d gone to ask his boyfriend about.

Jack was that boyfriend. He had to be. Bitty wasn’t stupid, he could connect those dots well enough without asking. And the important event Kent had mentioned?

The NHL draft.

He watched as Kent accepted a black Aces ball cap and put it on his head as the announcer from the airing station talked about whether or not he was NHL ready. It should’ve been one of the best days of his life. Bitty watched as he smiled for pictures in the video clip, eyes a little hollow. He looked so, so small.

How soon after that video was taken did he rush back to the hospital? How long did he have to stand there shaking hands and trying to smile while thinking about the boy he’d left behind? How many people asked him about Jack that day? Bitty leaned his chin in his hand, clicking away from the video.

Searching through the videos, he watched as many as he could find. The clips from Kent’s rookie season often showed highlights of a game with an interview at the end. He was unfailingly polite to reporters, calling everyone “sir” or “ma’am”. He answered questions in a very matter-of-fact manner, sticking to the professional-level PR coaching he had no doubt received from the Aces.

He was so good.

And yet, it was still impossible to think of Sweetie as Kent Parson. No amount of video watching helped. Scrolling through his official Twitter, looking him up on Instagram, reading interviews -- none of it helped. There was no trace of the sweet person Bitty knew in the media machine that was Kent Parson. He was all business all the time, with just enough sass to keep people interested. It was a carefully crafted, seamless mask.

Bitty spent his free time chatting with the boys from school instead, his presence in the group chat even more pronounced than usual. Just after finals, Jack reminded them all that the Canadiens were retiring Bob Zimmermann’s jersey number. It was a big event, taking place just after the start of the new year. Jack, of course, would physically attend. The rest of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team decided to have a watch party via Skype.

Bitty expected the ceremony to be gorgeous. He’d helped Jack pick out his outfit over text: well-fitting black suit, white shirt and -- with some misgivings -- a blue tie that matched his eyes. He expected Jack and his beautiful parents to show up on screen looking stunning. He expected to cry over the sweet things people would say about Bad Bob Zimmermann’s career. He expected to be amazed by the highlights reel. What he _didn’t_ expect was Kent Parson arriving with the Zimmermann family to accept the honor.

He looked absolutely _incredible_. Not a single golden hair out of place, Kent stepped out behind Alicia in a perfectly tailored navy suit. He should’ve been overshadowed by Jack, but to Bitty he was like the sun. His red tie was immaculate, everything about him perfectly coordinated to respect the Canadiens team colors and stand behind Bob Zimmermann. He walked out a beat behind Jack, Bob, and Alicia, following them rather than walking with them. It was a nice touch.

“He’s got some kind of style,” said Nursey.

It was true. He did. He’d done better than Bitty had for Jack. Better by at least a mile.

Kent stopped to speak with reporters the same way the Zimmermanns did. A blond woman stopped him, commenting on how great it was for him to attend. Kent answered a few questions about how he knew Bob and Alicia, agreeing that he’d gotten to know them quite well in the years he played hockey with Jack.

“You’re clearly still close to the Zimmermanns after all these years,” the reporter said, smiling. “How does it feel, being invited to an event like this?”

“Bob is a legend,” Kent said. There were little _faceoff circles_ on his pocket square. It had to be custom. “I’m -- it’s an honor to be here. Really. He’s an amazing person.”

“Aces don’t mind missing for you a night?”

Kent smiled a little. “I think one night is all right,” he said, laughing. “It’s a great team.”

“I can’t help but notice you’re here alone -- no one special you wanted to introduce to Bad Bob tonight?” she asked.

“Oh,” said Kent, eyes impossibly blue, “no. I don’t have a boyfriend right now.” He glanced away from the reporter before immediately looking back, eyes wide. “Excuse me,” he said quickly, “I have to get inside.”

Bitty sucked in a quick breath.

“Whoa,” said Ransom, “did he just --”

“Oh my god, dude, I think Kent Parson just _came out_ on television,” Holster said.

“Holy _shit_ ,” said Shitty. “That beautiful fucker.”

“That’s gonna make him the first out player in the NHL,” Bitty said, staring at the television. From the expression on Kent’s face, he hadn’t exactly planned on saying it.

“The internet,” said Shitty, “is gonna have a motherfucking field day.”

He was right, of course.

The ceremony and the Canadiens game following it passed in a blur. All Bitty could think about was Kent Parson saying _I don’t have a boyfriend right now_. His only appearances on camera following the incident were in the company of the Zimmermanns, both during the ceremony and shots of them during the game.

Leading headlines were predictable: _NHL’s Kent Parson Comes Out_ . He declined interviews, apparently, but that didn’t stop anyone from running stories. He’d only said one thing -- _one thing!_ \-- but it was everywhere. “I don’t have a boyfriend right now” suggested that he’d had a boyfriend before. Speculation about rumored relationships ran rampant and included anyone Kent had ever played hockey with, as well as various women he’d been seen with in public.

"While we believe that our actions in the past with You Can Play have shown our support for the LGBT community, we’re delighted to reaffirm our support for Kent Parson,” was Gary Bettman’s official statement. “As before, the official policy of the NHL is one of inclusion on the ice, in our locker rooms, and in the stands.”

The Las Vegas Aces were, of course, extremely supportive. "He has been a leader on and off the ice and an outstanding teammate throughout his NHL career,” said Aces coach Conway Scott. “Those qualities will continue to serve him both as a player and as a positive role model for others of all sexual orientations.” When asked if Kent would be remaining the Captain for the Aces, he laughed. “Why not?”

Several Aces players posted messages of support for Kent on their social media accounts. Jeffrey Troy -- the younger of the two Troy brothers who played for the Aces -- in particular was a strong voice of support. _Proud of @kentparson90. Don’t suffocate who u r because of the ignorance of others! #courage #support #youcanplay_. Surprising everyone, the Falconers’ Alexei Mashkov tweeted for Kent to let him know if he needed a date to the end of season awards with the hashtag ‘support’ attached.

While there were many messages of support, there were also many messages denouncing Kent Parson and the Las Vegas Aces organization entirely. News articles and blog posts were equally split between fans expressing pride and those expressing disappointment. Bitty knew it was a mistake to go into comments on articles, but he couldn’t help himself. Even though he thought he was prepared for it, the amount of homophobia shocked him.

_All these beautiful women in the world and guys wanna mess with other guys SMH._

_dirty aces hockey, dirty aces captain. a surprise 2 no 1_

_Aces just became my least fav team_

_ffffffffffffffuck las vegas and their fag captain_

_Kent Parson needs to shut his mouth and concentrate on the puck._

The Aces Facebook page was inundated with comments. Even if he were avoiding social media -- which, knowing him, he probably was -- there was no way Kent was entirely shielded from all the coverage. Fans elected Jonathan Toews of the Blackhawks to the All Star game instead of Kent. When asked about it, he said only that he would be happy for the opportunity to rest before the season continued. He’d declined any requests for interviews thus far and gone out of his way to avoid post-game coverage, but that couldn’t last forever. He was back on the ice, playing like always, but the percentage of hits he was taking had increased. Nevertheless, so far he had yet to break his point streak.

When he finally gave a post-game interview, once the Aces had him do a press conference, Kent only actually answered questions directly related to gameplay. Questions about his personal life received redirection and requests for questions about hockey. “I don’t have anything to say about anyone else,” Kent said every time a reporter asked him about Jack Zimmermann or any other player. “I can only talk about myself. I have nothing to say.”

 _I have nothing to say_. He said it over and over, but everyone was still asking. Jack was on his phone more than normal, and everyone in the Haus seemed on edge. Nobody wanted to talk about having gotten emails asking about Kent’s appearance at the kegster, but there had been at least one. Every Aces game was now under scrutiny, and it wasn’t long before Kent’s point streak finally broke. In the interview after that game, he didn’t smile. “You can’t win ’em all,” he said. “It was a good streak while it lasted.”

That night, Bitty took his phone out for what felt like the millionth time and finally pushed ‘call’. The phone rang and rang, but Kent didn’t answer. Bitty tried the next night, and the night after that. He tried for a week straight.

He’d never gotten voicemail before, but it was all he was getting now. “You have to pick up,” Bitty said, voice trembling. “You can’t -- you can’t be mad at Jack for shutting you out and then turn around and do it to me. Call me back. Please. _I miss you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [piesnpucks](http://piesnpucks.tumblr.com/) for your general hockey knowledge, willingness to chat, and honest editing and thank you [rhysiana](http://rhysiana.tumblr.com) for beta edits and thank you [zimmboniandbitty](http://zimmboniandbitty.tumblr.com) for being a super swell sounding board.
> 
> This chapter has been edited for canon compliance ;)  
>  
> 
> ... Y'all didn't think it was gonna resolve that fast, did you? C'mon now.


	14. it's on the tip of my tongue but I'm still afraid

Bitty tried calling Kent for three more days without getting an answer. Picking up his phone after hockey practice on Tuesday, he checked his notifications. He had a text from his mother, a Twitter notification, and… one missed call from Sweetie. No voicemail.

He called back and got voicemail again: _You’ve reached Kent and here’s today’s inspirational message: When something is important enough, you do it even if the odds are not in your favor. Elon Musk said that. Have a great day._

“It’s me,” Bitty said after the beep. “I’m so sorry I missed your call. Please call me again.” He hesitated before adding “I miss you” and hanging up.

The Aces played in Pittsburgh that night and won in overtime. Bitty tried to call again -- no dice. Two days later, he had another missed call. Once again, there wasn’t a voicemail.

Bitty just couldn't get the timing right. He'd walk out of class or practice and find that he'd missed a call from Sweetie's number. No messages. He'd call back, only to get voicemail in return. He couldn't get Sweetie on the phone. It was like some giant cosmic prank -- especially considering their last phone conversation. He always left a message, but he never got one back.

Two weeks later, the Aces were playing in California. The time difference was a bit much for Bitty to bear, so he’d gone to bed without catching the end of the game. The annoying, persistent sound of his phone ringing dragged him out of a dream about Kent Parson playing football.

Sitting up on one elbow, Bitty blinked at his phone. Why was it ringing? It was two in the morn-- _oh_. He scrambled forward, grabbing for the device. “Hello?”

A soft breath came through the line. “Hey, you.”

“Sweetie,” Bitty said, using the nickname out of habit, heart racing. “Hey. I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Well, I kinda thought you didn’t want to talk to me on account of all the, y’know. You not talking to me,” Sweetie said.

Bitty rubbed his forehead. “No. I mean, _no_. I know. I’m sorry. I should -- I shouldn’t’ve done that, but --”

“It’s fine,” said Sweetie. “I get it. I wouldn’t talk to me, either.”

No. No, he didn’t. Bitty took a breath. “I want to talk you,” he said.

“Yeah. I, uh.” Sweetie took a breath. “I gathered that, based on the seventy-five missed calls I have from you,” he said. “But listen, I’m familiar with the concept of ghosting, so you don’t have to, y’know. Track me down just to tell me that you hate me.”

“I’m not -- I don’t wanna _ghost_ you,” Bitty said. His stomach hurt. “Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I needed to process all of… of _this_ , but I shouldn’t’ve ignored you to do it. And I don’t hate you, baby.” It killed him to hear Sweetie say that.

There was a long moment of silence and then a ragged breath. “I just -- I want --”

“I _miss_ you,” Bitty said again. “Honestly, honey. I wrote out so many text messages and deleted them all.” He paused.

Sweetie didn’t say anything.

“I wasn’t trying to cut you out of my life.” Bitty rubbed the back of his neck, leaning against his pillows in the dark. “I didn’t know what to say, but I wasn’t…” _I wasn’t trying to be Jack_ . “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t think you would --” he broke off and took a small breath. _I didn’t think you’d ignore me back._ “I didn’t realize that by not calling you I was telling you I didn’t want you. But I was, wasn’t I?”

Sweetie swallowed roughly, the sound carrying through the line. “I understand,” he said. “I don’t blame you. I -- it was a stupid plan, coming to see you like that. And then when I got there and I saw you with him, I just…” he sighed. “Listen, Eric. I never wanted you to see that… ugly part of me. I’m not proud of anything I said that night.” He took a quick breath. “And you were right about me. Everything you said about me was right. I’m an asshole. I told you before. I’m--”

“Stop it,” Bitty said. “You’re not ruining me. You’re not ruining this. I missed you. I want to talk to you. I thought about you every single night and I’ve read that letter a hundred times. I don’t -- I don’t want this to be over.”

Sweetie didn’t say anything; the gentle sound of his breathing the only indication that he was still on the line.

Bitty rolled over onto his side as silence stretched between them. “What did you mean? When you said you saw me with him?”

Sweetie let out a trembling sigh. “Eric, please. Let’s -- cut the shit, all right? I saw your video. I mean yeah, I saw it after the fact, but -- look, we both know I’m not the straight boy you’re falling for.”

Oh. **That** video.

 _Fuck_.

“I’m not --”

“This is so -- honestly, this is so pathetic,” Sweetie said. He laughed, a despairing sound. “I can’t believe I did this again.”

Again? “What are you talking about?”

“Look, I know that phone sex and -- and video sex or… or whatever, it probably isn’t that big of a deal to you,” Sweetie said, “but it’s --” he swallowed. “It’s a big deal to me. _This_ was a big deal to me, long distance or not. And I, um. I thought… I didn’t think I was sleeping with someone who’s in love with someone else. And that’s -- that’s what I thought we were doing. I mean, I don’t blame you, because --”

Bitty sat upright. “I’m not _in love_ with someone _else_!” he hissed, cutting into Sweetie’s sentence.

“I said I didn’t blame you! It’s **Jack** . And he’s -- he’s right _there_ ,” Sweetie said.

“Okay, yeah. Fine.” Bitty rubbed his face. “I have a **crush** on Jack. Big deal. But it’s -- it’s not the same as what I feel for you, and you _know_ that.” Didn’t he? Bitty’s breath hitched.

“Do I?” Sweetie said. “In case you didn’t notice, _you_ never said, either.”

“I didn’t know about y’all’s history when I made that video, it was a spur of the moment thing and I didn’t think about -- about what you’d think when you watched it, and I’m sorry, but you never asked me to be your boyfriend or anything.” His face was burning. “I didn’t even know your name! How was I supposed to know you’d ever tell me who you were? That’s not fair!”

Sweetie sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone throwing ice over Bitty’s anger.

“We never had a fight before,” Bitty said softly. “It’s weird.”

“Are we fighting?”

“Kind of. But this doesn’t mean we can’t be okay.”

“I’m not good at this,” Sweetie said, and he sounded so _young_.

“I know, baby.” Bitty laughed gently. “I’m -- it’s okay. I forgive you. Okay? _This_ ,” he gestured in the air with one hand, even though Sweetie couldn’t see, “is a big deal to me, too. Everything between us is a big deal. I’m sorry I gave you the impression that it wasn’t.”

“Okay,” said Sweetie. “Okay. I’m -- I forgive you, too.” He dragged in a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not a casual person.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Yeah, I know. But I, um.” _Oh god_ . He’d have to say it plainly. There was no way around it, it was obvious that there was no other way to make him understand. “I don’t have **casual** feelings for you, sweetheart. This is more than that.”

Sweetie’s breath caught.

Bitty rubbed his face, willing his blush to cool. “Hey. You don’t wanna talk about this some more, do you?” It was so late, and they’d just had a pretty… heavy conversation.

“No,” Sweetie said. “I really, really don’t.” He sighed. “I just -- god, I know it’s late there. I don’t want to talk about this again, but I, um. I don’t wanna talk about it now, either. Things have been so -- I’m just tired. Are we… are we good?”

Were they good? Bitty bit his lower lip. “Almost,” he said.

“Oh,” said Sweetie.

“Why did you do it?” Bitty asked. “Coming out, I mean.”

There was a long pause. “I -- I was planning on doing it at the end of the season,” Sweetie said. “I was going to tell you. But then everything just sort of…” he sighed. “Nothing happened like I thought it would. And then I was at Bob’s event and I just felt -- I don’t know why I said it. I was just…” He swallowed. “I just wanted to be honest. With everything.”

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” Bitty said.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t do it for you,” Sweetie said. “I’m glad your self esteem is totally intact though, congratulations on that.”

“I’m gonna ignore that,” Bitty said, “on account of me not wanting to fight any more tonight.

Another pause followed.

“So,” Sweetie finally said. “Are we good?”

Neither of them had addressed Bitty’s feelings for Jack, not really. But he had a feeling that he wasn’t the only one harboring _something_ for Jack Zimmermann. Any time he came up, there was a small stretch of silence, and he’d never said he was falling for Jack specifically. Why zero in on him? Bitty knew he’d probably mentioned Jack in their phone conversations more than necessary, but still. Well, no matter. They could talk about it later. Right? “Yeah,” he said. “I mean. We’re good for now. You wanna read to me instead?”

Sweetie didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he laughed. “You read ahead, didn’t you?” Rustling sounds filtered through the line.

Bitty laughed, too. “Yeah. Sorry! I got through to the next chapter.”

“Okay.” Bitty could hear pages turning. “You know, we’ve only got one chapter left. You want me to buy the next one in French?”

“How’d you know?”

Sweetie laughed softly. “I know you, Eric,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Bitty, “you do. And I know the real you, don’t I?”

There was another pause, and when Sweetie spoke again, his voice was very soft. “Yeah. You do. And Eric?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have casual feelings for you, either.”

Things went back to the way they were before. Bitty and Sweetie spoke on the phone almost every night, and Sweetie read _Harry Potter et la Coupe de Feu_ . Hearing his voice again was comforting, even if it was rough with fatigue more often than not. Now that he knew who Sweetie really was -- even though he still couldn’t quite call him _Kent_ in his mind -- Bitty understood his early bedtime, the weird hours, the videos in hotel rooms. Everything made sense.

Well, a lot of things made sense. Some things still didn’t, though. Kent was taking more hits than ever in games, and the Aces… weren’t winning quite like they had before. They were still on track, but it looked more like a struggle than it had before. And they hadn’t had a single video chat since December, despite their emotional conversation. It was frustrating. Every time Bitty tried to steer their phone conversation toward something resembling sex, Sweetie seemed to withdraw a little. They still hadn’t discussed Jack at length, but it was obvious from the way Sweetie reacted when Bitty mentioned him that he hadn’t forgotten about it. His videos were still guitar-only and he was always so tired.

“Are you okay?” Bitty asked one night when Sweetie sounded particularly worn out. The press was all over the sudden and unexpected changes in the Aces lines. Jeff Troy was no longer on the first line with Parson, that was all Bitty had read about that day. He was so supportive on social media, though. What happened?

“I’m fine,” Sweetie said. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Bitty frowned. “Oh, honey. Has that been happening often?”

A noncommittal noise slid down the line. “‘M fine,” Sweetie insisted.

“I heard about the changes to your line.” Bitty paused. “Is everything -- are you really okay?”

Sweetie sighed. “Seriously, you’re asking me about Swoops? Look, that wasn’t my call, I’m not the coach, you know that’s not up to me.” His voice was tight, defensive.

“You’ve been taking more hits,” Bitty said. “Ever since you came out.” They’d avoided talking about hockey much, mostly because Bitty still hadn’t managed to find a graceful way to ask how things were _actually_ going. He knew that things weren’t easy.

“Nah.”

“I can see the stats, baby.”

“That’s just hockey. Don’t worry about me, seriously.” A pause. “Why are you looking at my stats, anyway? What about your calculus class, why don’t we talk about that, mister numbers?”

Bitty groaned and allowed the change of subject -- and that night, for the first time since December, Sweetie finally allowed their phone call to escalate past flirting.

“So,” said Sweetie one night, “I’m, um. I’m playing in Boston in two weeks.”

“Yeah?” said Bitty. He was alone in the kitchen, stress-baking a buttermilk pie during a rare moment of alone time. He had them on audio-only chat via Skype as he moved around the kitchen, finally having gotten Sweetie to agree to something other than a phone call again. They had about half an hour. “That’s great. Y’all’re doing pretty good this season, and --”

“ _Eric_ ,” Sweetie said.

“What?”

“Do you wanna come? To the game, I mean?” A pause. “It’s fine if you’re busy or whatever, I just -- I mean I can save a ticket for you. If you want. I’d, um. I’d like to see you.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Bitty said. Come to the game? Meet in person?

“It’s okay if you can’t,” Sweetie said immediately. He was so quick to back away now, so quick to believe that Bitty would reject him.

“I’ll be there,” Bitty said. “Save a ticket for me. I’d love to.”

As it turned out, Ransom and Holster had also gotten tickets to the Aces versus Bruins game. So had Shitty and Jack -- and Shitty had purchased an extra one for Lardo. Bitty checked their seats and, after a little finagling, was able to get his ticket moved around to be next to theirs.  Thus, a Samwell Hockey Road Trip was born.

“Does it count as a road trip,” Lardo asked, “when it’s literally just like, 40 minutes?”

“It counts,” Ransom said.

“There’s a playlist,” said Holster.

“Oh,” said Lardo, tone flat, “good.”

“The playlist must be played,” said Shitty.

In the end, Bitty, Shitty, and Lardo all rode with Jack. Ransom and Holster took Holster’s truck. Before leaving the Haus, Bitty slid extra clothes into his messenger bag, tucking it into the back of Jack’s SUV. He didn’t plan on leaving Boston that night, not if there was any chance at all that he could stay. It would be easy to pull off a night in the city with his friends taking two cars.

Their seats were… pretty good. Honestly, Bitty would’ve had a better seat had he let Kent pick what ticket he reserved, but he’d wanted to sit with his friends. They were all on the home goal side, up in the stands with hundreds of Bruins fans. Ransom and Holster fit right in, their Bruins jerseys blending into the crowd. As he sat down, Bitty realized he was the only person he could see in their section wearing something Aces related -- Jack was wearing a Habs jersey out of spite. The two of them stuck out amongst the sea of black and gold.

It didn’t help when Kent scored within the first five minutes of the game. He was skating well that night, moving quick and going after the puck with bold intensity. The Aces seemed to be trying to get as many shots on the goal as possible, but Boston’s defense was keeping up -- and then, in the last 30 seconds of the period, Kent iced the goalie when he scored again.

He slid to a quick stop, his skates throwing ice shavings in the goalie’s face as the puck slid in. Jack hissed next to Bitty, shaking his head. Ransom and Holster both let out very loud “what the FUCK”’s along with every other Boston fan in Bitty’s section. From there, the mood in the stands became even more pointedly anti-Aces.

The Bruins upped their game in the second period. The first power play for the Aces was awarded for high-sticking against J. Troy, but it didn’t help them at all. Bitty felt like the only person in the entire stadium rooting for the Aces, especially when Boston scored halfway through. Turnovers increased, and Bitty could swear that the checks Kent was taking were harder than they needed to be. Every time play stopped, all Bitty could hear was a wave of ire aimed at the Aces in general and Kent in particular. The period ended with a second Boston goal.

The third period was full of icing calls as both teams ramped up speed. Kent took a poke check to the back of the knee and stumbled violently, resulting in yet another stoppage in play. The offending Bruins player took a penalty, resulting _very_ loud booing from the fans.

“ _Fucking_ typical Aces hockey,” one of them was saying to the other. “How much you bet Parson slept with one of the refs -- these calls are _ridiculous_.”

“A penalty for that? What is this, soccer? How is that not embellishment? What a pansy.”

“I know, dude. Fucking fag. If you can’t take the game get off the ice, right?”

Bitty grit his teeth. He glared at the men, anger brightening his cheeks. Was this just par for the course? He knew it was a home game for the Bruins, but _still_. Every time Kent took the ice, loud booing ensued. Did this happen all the time or was it just because he’d started the game off by putting the Bruins down by one?

The Aces won. Kent got off a clean wrister with two minutes left in the game, breaking the tie. Even from Bitty’s seat he could see the smile on Kent’s face. Glancing at Jack, Bitty grinned.

“Fucking Aces,” said Holster, sighing.

“I know,” said Ransom. “Good game, though. I can’t believe Parson snowed the goalie!”

“Not his finest move,” Jack said.

“Damn fine hockey, though,” said Shitty, “damn fine.”

“All right, Agent Cooper,” said Lardo. “Let’s go.”

Bitty sighed. He stood, making his way down from their seats.

Pulling out his phone, he fired off a quick text. _Where are you staying? What room?_

It took a moment, but the reply came quickly. _Royal Sonesta. #319. Why?_

 _Just trying to figure out where to meet you_ , he sent back.

_I can meet you wherever you want. Just tell me._

“You riding back with Jack?” Holster asked.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. He ducked into the bathroom, quickly checking the availability of an Uber to get him from the game to Kent’s hotel. It wouldn’t be too expensive, he was relieved to see. It looked like he could get one in just a few minutes. Rejoining his friends, Bitty glanced at Jack.

Falling back behind Ransom and Holster to walk next to Jack, Bitty cleared his throat. “I’m gonna ride back with Ransom and Holster,” he said. “I just gotta get something out of your car.”

“Okay,” said Jack.

Lardo gave him a quiet glance, raising one brow. Bitty blushed. When they got to Jack’s car he grabbed his bag out of the back. They hadn’t been able to park near each other -- Ransom and Holster had parked in a whole different parking garage -- so after telling Shitty, Lardo, and Jack that he’d see them later, Bitty headed for the exit.

As soon as he got outside, he requested the Uber. Shrugging his bag up higher on his shoulder, he avoided the gazes of as many Bruins fans as possible. When the car arrived, Bitty slid in quickly.

“Good game?” asked the driver.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. His stomach hurt.

When they pulled up to the hotel, he got out quickly after thanking the driver. It had taken longer than he’d expected to get through Boston traffic. Heading inside, Bitty went straight for the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a nervous sigh. The ding for the third floor startled him and he jumped a little as the elevator doors slid open.

  
“Here goes nothing,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much piesnpucks & rhysiana for your time & edits! (:
> 
> Please feel free to come yell at me on [tumblr](http://zombizombi.tumblr.com).


	15. i'm leaving my fingerprints on you

The third floor hallways seemed near deserted. Bitty left the elevator quickly, grip tightening on his bag. He followed the signs around and down a hallway to the left. With every step, the ball of nerves in his stomach tightened. God, what if Kent wasn’t back yet? What if he stood in the hallway forever?

And then, there it was -- 319. Bitty stopped in front of it, took a breath, and lifted his hand. He rapped quickly and then took a step back, waiting.

“Just a _minute_ ! God! Jeff, you _know_ I don’t want to go out --” The door opened and Kent leaned against the frame, hair damp and wild, bruised feet bare. He was wearing _glasses_. He just… stared for a moment. “Eric,” he said then, eyes still wide. “What are you --”

“I know you got my text.” Bitty smiled, glancing to the left. He didn’t want to have this conversation in the hallway. He took a small step forward.

In response, Kent took a step back, leaving space for Bitty to enter. The door shut behind them. “I wanted to see you,” he said. “Obviously. Why did you think I asked your room number?”

“Oh,” said Kent. “Well, I -- I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d actually _come up here_. I guess I didn’t think about it. I mean, I thought we’d go for dinner or something.” He ran a hand through his hair.

Bitty bit his lower lip, leaning on the door. Oh, god. What if Kent didn’t want to...? Was it too soon after everything? “Is this -- is it okay?” he asked. “I should probably have asked you first, huh? I can go.” Jack would come back and get him. Right? Or… he could maybe get a bus. “Or I can, um. I can go wait for you in the lobby, if you want.”

“Hell no,” Kent said, taking a small step forward and pressing one hand flat against the door. The soft scent of his soap, a gentler version of the cologne Bitty loved, filled the space between them.

Bitty swallowed. “No?”

Gentle fingers slid along Bitty’s jaw, tilting his head up. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Kent said, voice painfully soft as he brushed his thumb across Bitty’s lower lip. His eyes searched Bitty’s face. “And now that you are, I...” He tilted his head, pressing his lips very gently to Bitty’s. His skin was hot and he tasted like the soft mint of toothpaste, hot and sweet.

As soon as the kiss ended, Bitty slid a hand up to cup the back of Kent’s neck, dragging him down for another kiss, this one harder and hotter than the last. The kiss broke and Bitty dragged a breath in, feeling almost dizzy. “I don’t have to go back tonight,” he said.

Kent _blushed_. “No?” He swallowed. “Okay. That’s -- okay.”

“Is it?” Bitty asked, reaching for Kent’s hand. As their fingers curled together, he smiled.

“Yes.” Kent’s answering smile slid across his face like sunrise.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Bitty murmured.

“Not most of the time,” Kent said. He smiled a little, eyes sea-green behind the navy frames. “Inconvenient.”

“I like them,” Bitty offered.

“Yeah?” Kent gripped at his hips, pulling him close. He leaned forward to kiss Bitty again, but just as quickly broke the kiss to take a quick breath.  “Eric,” he said, voice tense, “wait. Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “Why?”

“I don’t want to make trouble for you,” Kent said softly. “I mean, I don’t --”

Bitty kissed him again, carding his fingers through Kent’s hair. “It’s fine,” he murmured. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. There wasn’t anybody out there.”

Kent let out a soft laugh. “An optimist,” he said. “Cute.” He pulled away, leading Bitty further into the hotel room. His guitar was out, leaning against the wall next to the bed. His laptop was out, too, sitting next to a nest of pillows and blankets.

Setting his bag down, Bitty sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Kent slid in beside him, leaning back against the pillows and crossing his legs. He reached over and set the laptop on the nightstand, glancing at Bitty and smiling a small, hesitant smile. They sat there like that for a good minute, neither of them speaking.

“So,” Bitty finally said.

“So,” Kent echoed. He laughed suddenly and rubbed his face. “God,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

Nervous? Over _him_? A warm feeling flooded Bitty’s body and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “It’s just me,” he said.

“You’re not _just_ anything,” Kent replied.

Before he really realized what he was doing, Bitty was moving. Sliding over, he settled between Kent’s legs, leaning back against his chest. After a moment, Kent slid an arm around Bitty’s waist, pulling him a little closer. He set his chin on Bitty’s shoulder. “This is better,” he said, after a moment.

“Yeah?” Bitty smiled.

“Yeah. I’m glad you came.” Kent’s arms tightened around him just a little. “It feels… real. Is that weird?”

Tracing a finger over the back of Kent’s hand, Bitty thought about it for a moment. After such a long time of talking only via text or audio and never face to face, it made sense. “It’s not weird, honey,” he said. “I get it. Real is good, right?”

“Very.” Kent twitched his hand. “That tickles.”

“You played well tonight,” Bitty said. “Except for that whole goalie thing.”

“That was an accident,” Kent protested. He tilted his head a little. “Did you have fun?”

“Really? You wanna talk about hockey while I’m in your lap?”

Kent didn’t say anything. His hands were solid against Bitty’s waist, holding him close.

“If you weren’t going out,” Bitty continued, after they’d just sat for a moment, “what were you gonna do?”

“Honestly?” Kent laughed. “I was gonna record a video and then take a bath.”

“A bath?”

“Yeah.”

“Well -- we can do that,” Bitty said, cheeks heating even as the words left his mouth.

“Oh,” said Kent, “can we?” He pressed a kiss to Bitty’s neck, nuzzling gently. “Well. All right.” Leaning back against the headboard, he reached for his guitar, grinning. “I guess we’ll do the video first, huh?”

“Do I get to pick the song?”

Kent laughed. “I already had one picked,” he said. “Is that okay?”

“I _guess_ so,” Bitty said. He scooted over in the bed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. So far, so good: no texts in the group chat about his absence. Bitty relaxed against the pillows, lazily resting his feet against Kent’s thigh. “Hey,” Bitty said, after watching him tune his guitar for a moment.

“Hey,” said Kent, glancing up at him. “What?”

“Play me something,” Bitty said, switching to the video recording screen and holding his phone up.

Kent glanced over at him and laughed, rolling his eyes. “I was already _gonna_ play for you. Since you’re here.” He paused and then laughed again. “Why are you doing that? You filming me?” he asked. “Even though I’m already filming this? That thing is still running.” He jerked his head toward the laptop.

“C’mon,” Bitty said. “Just play something for me. You can do the other one after or whatever.”

“Like what?” Kent leaned his cheek against his guitar.

“A Disney song,” Bitty requested.

Kent bit his lip, glancing away while thinking. “Tch. You really like when I play Disney songs, huh? Okay,” he said. After a moment of silence his hands began to move and a song started to take shape. It was _I See the Light_ from _Tangled_.

“Oh!” Bitty laughed. “I love this song!”

“Yeah, I know. Took me a while to arrange it,” Kent said. His fingers moved easily across the strings and Bitty stared, mesmerized, at the muscles in his forearms. It was a beautiful arrangement. When he finished, Kent glanced over at him, smiling softly as Bitty cheered a little. “Happy?”

“I am,” Bitty said. “Are you?” Stretching, he set his phone on the desk before sitting back up. Kent was watching him the way Jack watched people on the ice. Bitty took a breath as Kent reached over with one hand, shutting his laptop without looking.

The sound of Bitty’s ringtone cut through the mood and he jumped a little, startled by the sudden noise. Leaning over he grabbed the phone again -- it was Shitty. “Hello?”

“Bits! What the _fuck_?!”

“Hi, Shitty,” Bitty glanced at Kent, who shrugged. “I --”

“Where the _fuck_ are you? You told us you were riding with Ransom and Holster and they thought you were with _us_ and --”

“I’m fine!” Bitty’s neck heated with a blush. “Everything’s fine, I’m staying the night in Boston, and --”

“Did he get axe murdered?!” That was Ransom in the background. “We leave our little bro to the mercy of Boston and --”

“He’s fine,” said Lardo, her voice coming through the line louder than Ransom’s.

Someone gasped. “He’s hooking up with someone!”

Shitty’s tone changed suddenly, incredulity creeping in. “You little _fucker_ , you’re shacking up with someone, aren’t you?!”

Oh, _lord_. “Can I just see y’all tomorrow?”

“You owe us for those lies, bro,” Shitty said. “Use protection.”

“Good _night_ ,” Bitty said.

Hanging up, Bitty turned his phone on silent before setting it back down. He turned back to Kent.

“You in trouble?” Kent asked, one brow raised.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bitty said.

Kent grinned, moving to set his guitar aside. “Oh, sure. I’ll bet.” He glanced at Bitty again. “You’re too far away.” He reached out an arm, hooking it around Bitty’s waist and pulling him close. He tucked his chin back down against Bitty’s shoulder, winding his arms around Bitty’s chest. They both took a breath and Bitty relaxed into the embrace, bringing one of his hands up to slide over Kent’s forearm.

“Lord,” he said after a moment, “you’re cuddly.”

Kent chucked a little, the sound vibrating down Bitty’s spine. “I’ve just thought about it a lot,” he said, “holding you.” He kissed Bitty’s neck, lips soft and gentle, breath hot.

A fizzy, shivering feeling unfurled in Bitty’s stomach. Vaguely registering a faint gasping noise, Bitty realized it had come from him. He slid an arm up to push his fingers into Kent’s hair. Bitty trailed his fingers down the back of Kent’s neck and when he turned his head their mouths met again, Kent’s tongue sliding along Bitty’s lower lip. Bitty opened his mouth easily, letting the kiss deepen as he arched back, pressing against Kent’s chest. Kent’s body was hard underneath him, lean and muscular, the warmth of his skin seeping easily through his thin shirt. He nipped at Kent’s lip, and the answering growl from Kent’s chest was both startling and intensely sexy.

He crushed Bitty to him, their lips crashing together. Bitty was desperate for him -- had _been_ desperate for him, imagining this exact moment countless times when alone in his room. He worked a hand down between them, brushing against Kent’s inner thigh with curious fingers. He wanted _more_. He wanted to strip Kent down and kiss every part of him, wanted to feel and taste more of his skin.

Kent jerked back suddenly, dragging in a deep breath of air. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding like he’d run a marathon. “Just -- um.” He ran his hands through his hair, scooting back a little on the bed, away from Bitty. His lips were swollen from kissing.

Bitty twisted around, craning his neck to try and catch Kent’s gaze. “What?” he said. A muscle tightened in Kent’s jaw. Bitty knew he was moving fast, but -- this was their _chance_. They’d been talking for so long and he knew they’d both dreamed about being together, just as he knew they only had one night. Twisting again, he turned until they were fully facing each other.

Kent stared back at him. “It’s just -- I haven’t done this in --” Hands returned to Bitty’s thighs.

“Six years?” said Bitty softly. “I know. It’s okay.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Kent’s neck. The catch in Kent’s breath was audible. “Kent,” Bitty said softly. “It’s okay. We can just talk. Or cuddle. Whatever, I don’t care.”

Kent sucked in a quick breath. “Say it again,” he said.

“What?”

Kent’s eyes shimmered in the low light. “My name,” he murmured.

Bitty smiled gently. “Kent,” he said, lifting the glasses from his face, setting them aside. Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss against Kent’s hairline, along his temple. “Kent,” he said again, moving to kiss Kent’s cheek. Sliding his fingers against Kent’s jaw, Bitty pressed a kiss near the corner, just along the bone. “Kent.” He tilted his head, brushing their lips together. “Kent.” Kent’s skin tasted like salt, and when Bitty leaned back, he realized that the taste came from tears.

“Oh,” he murmured, pulling back, “baby. It’s okay.”

“I want to,” Kent said, leaning forward to close the space between them again. Fingers slid up under the hem of Bitty’s shirt, brushing against bare skin. “I do.”

“Kent,” Bitty said again, lips pressed just under his ear. He slid his hands down, grasping at Kent’s shirt. He tugged it up and off over Kent’s head, tossing it onto the floor easily. When he turned back to look at Kent he couldn’t help but just… stare at him, for a moment.

There was a large bruise across his side. Parts of it were a deep purple and parts of it were already turning green. It looked awful. There were other bruises in various stages of healing, but none of them were quite so… large.

“Oh, honey,” Bitty breathed. He brushed his thumb across the skin. “When was this?”

Kent shrugged. “I can’t keep track of stuff like that,” he said.

Bitty swallowed. “You don’t have to keep pretending like nothing’s wrong,” he said, after a moment. “Not with me.”

“I’m not,” Kent said.

Shaking his head, Bitty leaned back. “I -- look, I heard people tonight. The stuff they said, I --” he broke off, swallowing roughly. “And I saw the hits you took. This isn’t _nothing_. Why didn’t you tell me? It’s okay if you’re not fine.”

Kent slid his hands up to Bitty’s lower back, balancing him carefully. “I _am_ fine,” he said, “now.”

Bitty sighed. “If you can’t tell your boyfriend --” Kent’s sharp intake of breath stopped him for a moment. “What?” he asked.

“Is --” Kent swallowed. “Is that what I am?”

Oh. Bitty realized that they hadn’t ever actually _said_ , had they? “D’you wanna be?” Bitty asked softly.

“Yes.” Kent’s hands tightened on Bitty’s ass, pulling him closer. “Yeah. I do.”

“Okay, well -- great,” Bitty said, “then that’s settled, so --”

Kent kissed him again, winding a strong arm around his waist. Fingers brushed at the nape of Bitty’s neck and he shivered a little, leaning into the kiss. Kent tucked his other hand under the hem of Bitty’s shirt, inching it up until he could pull it off. He tossed it aside easily before grasping for Bitty again, grip gentle but insistent, pushing them closer together. Turning a little, Kent eased them both down on the bed, wrapping his arms around Bitty.

Nose to nose with Kent, Bitty realized how very long his lashes were. His eyes were a haphazard mix of blue and grey and green. “I still -- I still can’t believe you’re here,” Kent murmured.

Bitty slid his hand down Kent’s side, brushing his fingers over bare skin. “I’m here,” he said. “We have all night.”

“We do, don’t we?” Kent grinned. He ran his hands down Bitty’s back. Tilting his head, he kissed him again, winding one leg through Bitty’s.

The rest of their clothes soon joined Bitty’s shirt on the floor. Bitty leaned back, just looking at him for a moment. The golden lamplight pooled in the lines of Kent’s abdomen, sparkled along blond hair. He was perfect, eyes closed and muscles tight. Bitty left the bed for a moment, grabbing for the lube and condoms he’d slid into his bag along with his toothbrush.

Kent blushed, the color blooming on face and neck. “Eric?” he said, voice quiet. He leaned up on one elbow.

“I just had to get something,” Bitty said. He sat on the edge of the bed again, the mattress dipping with his weight. “You’re gorgeous.”

A faint smirk crossed Kent’s face. “Yeah,” he said, “I know.” He reached up to switch off the light, pausing when Bitty caught at his wrist. The light stayed on.

“I’m serious.” Bitty slid forward to press a gentle kiss to Kent’s neck. “You’re perfect.” He kissed Kent’s collarbone, placing a hand against his chest and pushing gently as he let his mouth move lower. Kent fell back against the pillows again. His grip was tight against the sheets, knuckles white.

Gently kissing along the edge of Kent’s inner thigh, Bitty traced gentle fingers over the delicate skin. Kent shivered beneath him, biting his lower lip, and Bitty wanted him to relax. He moved back up to kiss him, gently pressing their lips together. When Kent slid an arm around him, Bitty nipped at his lip.

The intensity between them gradually increased as Kent finally relaxed against Bitty, allowing himself to be pulled closer. Roaming hands slid over bare skin, gently testing new limits. For all the video and phone sex they’d had, actually having Kent beneath him was… surprisingly exhilarating. Bitty wanted to touch and taste every single inch of him. Trying to remember the ways he’d seen Kent touch himself, Bitty brushed his fingers carefully over hard nipples and down thighs, allowing his nails to graze the skin.

He took his time working Kent open, moving slowly and only adding another finger once Kent was panting and begging for it, grip tight on Bitty’s shoulder. It was Bitty’s first time but not Kent’s, and Bitty was suddenly deeply aware of that as Kent wrapped strong fingers around Bitty’s wrist, changing the angle slightly, pushing back against him. He twisted at the waist, grinding against Bitty’s hand.  
“Kent – you’re so… beautiful,” Bitty gasped. The lines of muscle under pale skin, the flush over lips and cheeks, the dark gold of his eyelashes -- everything about him incredible, better in person than Bitty had ever imagined.

Kent threw his head back, baring his throat. He pulled his knee higher, inching his hips lower to change the angle between them. “Eric --” his hand on Bitty’s wrist pressed harder, more insistent before moving to grip at his hip. “ _Please_. I want you.”

He was beautiful, beautiful and vulnerable, and Bitty wanted him so badly that it burned in his chest.

Bitty pulled away, hurriedly rolling the condom on before lining their hips up. He hesitated for a bare moment before pushing his hips forward slowly, biting his lip. _God_ , he was so -- so hot. “God, I -- _Kent_. You’re so --” Bitty paused, giving himself a moment before moving again. As Bitty pushed further into him, Kent groaned a little, fingers digging into Bitty’s shoulder. He tried to force himself to move slowly, hissing with the pressure. The tightness of it was – he slid one hand down Kent’s side.

“You okay?” he paused, pushing up on one arm to get a better view of Kent’s face.

“Yes --” Kent took a panting breath. “Don’t stop. C’mon.” He tilted under Bitty, grasping at him.

When Bitty pushed his hips forward slowly, Kent arched up to meet him, taking a sharp breath. Bitty turned his head to ask if he was all right again and Kent kissed him, soft and passionate, winding fingers into his hair. His other hand gripped at Bitty’s hip, pulling him closer.

“You’re not hurting me,” Kent whispered.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Bitty pulled his hips back slowly before driving them forward again. “No?” He pushed up on one forearm, looking down at Kent’s flushed face. His next thrust was harder, more purposeful, and Kent arched up into it, biting his lower lip. A hand curled around the back of Bitty’s neck, gripping at him, and the next thrust dragged a deep groan from his throat.

He was perfect. Bitty leaned down, kissing the soft skin of Kent’s neck, sliding his tongue over the beat of his pulse. “Kent,” he murmured, feeling Kent’s hand on his hip tighten. “Kent. I --”

Kent twisted his hips suddenly, pushing back against Bitty’s thrust, slamming them together. “Please,” he whimpered, and the desperation in his voice had Bitty seeing stars.

They moved into a faster rhythm, both of them gasping, Kent hooking his knee up closer to Bitty’s shoulder. The slick skin of his cock grazed over Bitty’s abdomen as he bent to kiss Kent again, dragging their mouths together. Kent keened into the kiss, nails scraping over Bitty’s back. Bitty buried his head against Kent’s neck, bracing himself with one hand on the mattress as he snapped his hips back and then forward again.

Kent reached between them, fingers stroking over his own skin and he threw his head back, baring his throat again, eyes shut. “Eric--”

The breathless sound of his name was too much for Bitty. He jerked as he came, body stilling even as Kent’s hips continued their sinuous motion, edging out the last of what he needed before he spilled between them, sticky and hot and gasping.

Bitty fell down against sheets that seemed impossibly cool, reaching a hand up to brush sweaty hair off of his forehead. He dragged in a deep breath, turning his head to look at Kent.

Kent rolled onto his side, curling an arm around Bitty. Their foreheads pressed together, both of them catching their breath as Kent let out a soft, nervous little laugh. “Um,” he said, “hi…”

Bitty tilted his head, catching Kent’s mouth in a gentle kiss. “Hi,” he said. “Is -- was that okay?”

“Oh my god,” Kent said. “Yes. Yeah.” He kissed Bitty again. “Yes.” He closed his eyes.

Reaching up, Bitty carded his fingers through Kent’s hair, smiling a little as Kent leaned into the touch. “Hey,” he said.

“Mmm?” Kent didn’t even open an eye.

“You wanna take that bath now?”

Kent groaned. “It’s so far away,” he said.

“Baby.” Bitty laughed. “It’s like… two feet away!” He nudged Kent. “C’mon. We’re sticky.”

Kent pushed up on one arm. “All right,” he said, “all right.”

Soon the sound of running water filtered out of the bathroom. Leaving the bed, Bitty joined Kent in the bathroom just in time to see him drop a large yellow ball into the tub. It fizzed, releasing tendrils of gold into the water. The familiar scent of apples and cinnamon flooded the bathroom as Kent stepped into the steaming water, quickly sinking into it while letting out a gentle hiss.

“It smells like apple pie,” Bitty said, watching the color disperse in the water.

“Yeah.” Kent leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. His hair was wild. “I know, that’s why I bought it. It reminds me of you.”

God, this man. Bitty bit his lip and stepped gingerly into the tub. The heat of the water shocked him and he almost pulled his foot back out. Glancing at the faucet, Bitty quickly twisted it just a little to add more cold water. That done he sank slowly into the tub, slotting himself carefully in between Kent’s legs. They both fit in the tub, but just barely. “You always run your bath this hot?”

“Mm.” Kent let out a soft breath. “Yeah. I like it.” He slid an arm around Bitty’s waist and tucked his face down into the curve between neck and shoulder.

Glancing down, Bitty saw that the slowly disappearing bath bomb was letting out soft swirls of blue now, the water having all turned a beautiful, glimmering gold. The whole bathroom smelled like sweet toffee, tangy apples, and spicy cinnamon. The water felt incredibly soft. He brushed gentle fingers over the top of Kent’s muscular thigh. Did he sit in hot baths often? “You’re so cute,” he said.

“You,” said Kent, voice heavy and soft.

“Is this your post-game thing?” Bitty asked.

“Uh-huh.” Kent pressed a lazy kiss to the side of Bitty’s neck. “Baths. Sometimes spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti?”

“I like spaghetti, it’s one of the only things my mom could cook,” Kent mumbled. “What d’you do? Tell me.”

Bitty began telling Kent all about his pre- and post-game rituals, starting with his playlist. It was only when he’d gotten to the actual post-game part that he realized Kent had stopped replying. His head was heavy on Bitty’s shoulder, breathing soft.

“Kent?” he said quietly. Turning his head, Bitty smiled. Kent’s eyes were closed, lashes dark gold against his skin. Looking closely, Bitty could see the faint circles under his eyes. His grip around Bitty’s waist had relaxed into nothing. Bitty tilted his head, kissing Kent’s temple. “Hey. C’mon. We gotta get out of this tub before you drown.”

Kent scrunched his nose, brow furrowing. He woke all at once, jerking upright. “Oh --” He blinked and then let out a groan. “God.” Lifting a hand, he pressed it to his face. “Not again.”

“Is falling asleep in the tub part of your post-game ritual too?” Bitty grinned. He stood carefully, grabbing for a towel.

Pulling the plug out of the drain, Kent stood, bracing himself on the wall with one hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Long day.”

“I know, sweetie.” Bitty handed Kent a towel. “Here.”

Kent gave him a warm glance. “You gonna call me that forever?” he asked.

“What?” Bitty blinked.

“Sweetie.”

Bitty turned to leave the bathroom. “Maybe I am,” he said. “Come.”

“I _did_ already,” Kent muttered, but he followed Bitty out of the bathroom anyway, briskly rubbing at his skin with the towel. He tossed it back onto the bathroom floor before sliding back into bed next to Bitty, immediately rolling onto his side after shutting off the light. “Oh,” he breathed, “I forgot to read to you.”

How was he so sweet? Was he really worried about reading to Bitty after all that? Sliding an arm around Kent’s waist, Bitty kissed his forehead. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can read to me tomorrow.”

Kent sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Why?” Bitty curled close, pressing their skin together. “I’m happy.”

“I’m happy, too.” Winding their fingers together, Kent squeezed his hand. He yawned. “Good night, Eric.”

“Good night, baby.” Bitty pressed a kiss to the back of Kent’s neck. He listened to Kent’s breathing for a moment, deep and slow. He’d known that Kent was tired much of the time -- why wouldn’t he be, with a professional athlete’s schedule -- but how much of that was emotional? Bitty let his cheek rest against the bare skin of Kent’s back.

When he woke in the morning, it was to the sound of the door closing. Bitty sat up in the bed, suddenly very aware that he was completely naked. He looked toward the door instantly, but it was only Kent. “Lord,” he said, “you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Kent said. “I went to the gym. I didn’t want to wake you -- there’s a note under your phone.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” Bitty toyed with the edge of the sheet, just watching Kent move around the room. “Did you?”

“Better than I have in a while.” Kent sat down, untying his shoes. “I’m gonna shower. We’re leaving in a few hours.” He glanced at Bitty. “What?”

“What?”

Kent laughed. “Stop staring!”

It was basically a perfect morning. They took an extremely long shower that ended with Kent on his knees and Bitty seeing stars. They ordered room service for breakfast and debated about the best way to eat eggs. They traded shirts -- even though Bitty’s wouldn’t fit Kent, not really -- and watched ridiculous daytime television while snuggling. When the alarm on Bitty’s phone went off to remind them that he needed to go, he sighed.

Wearing Kent’s soft blue and white plaid shirt, Bitty picked up his bag. The Uber to the bus station was five minutes away. “Are you sure this is okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Kent said, “it’s fine. I checked. Just pull the ticket up in your email.” He grinned, catching at Bitty’s wrist and pulling him close. “You look great in my shirt,” he murmured, dragging their lips close together. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

The bus trip back to Samwell was uneventful. Bitty flipped through the pictures he’d taken on his phone, smiling softly. Rubbing the edge of the shirt collar between his fingers released a faint ghost of Kent’s cologne. He watched his video of Kent playing guitar again and tweeted a few ambiguous tweets about ‘seeing someone’ and ‘this boy’. When the bus arrived at Samwell, Bitty disembarked quickly and took another Uber back to the Haus. It was nearing noon, which hopefully meant people were busy doing things and not lying in wait for his arrival.

When he entered the Haus, Bitty didn’t immediately see anyone. Feeling hopeful, he quickly made for the stairway, trying to make as little noise as possible. Bitty stopped halfway up the stairs, frowning. That song sounded… familiar. A little _too_ familiar. He took the rest of the steps quickly, pausing on the landing.

It was Kent. He was sure of it -- after all, he’d heard the song just the night before. Turning his head toward the sound, Bitty caught sight of Jack’s open door. He sucked in a quick breath.

Oh.

Oh _no_.

Bitty moved to stand in Jack’s doorway. Sure enough, Jack’s laptop showed a video of Kent in a hotel -- face not showing, like always -- playing _I See the Light_. Bitty’s feet were visible in the video, resting easily across Kent’s leg.

Jack turned, catching sight of him.

“Jack,” Bitty said.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” Jack asked, voice soft. “With him.”

Bitty let out a soft breath. “Yeah,” he said, after a minute of silence. “That’s me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you rhysiana, editingatwork, and piesnpucks. Y'all are swell.
> 
> The bath bomb is real -- [it's from LUSH](https://www.lushusa.com/bath/bath-bombs/fizzbanger/03160.html)!


	16. you never know what you got till it's gone

Jack looked back to the video. “I see,” he said.

Bitty bit his lower lip. “Um -- sorry I lied to y’all,” he said. “I just wasn’t sure… what to say? Anyway, I’m back safe now, so --”

“How is he?” Jack was looking at Bitty again, his eyes trained on the shirt.

The knot in Bitty’s stomach tightened. Did Jack know it was Kent’s shirt? “Who?”

“Kent.”

Bitty swallowed. “I, um. I don’t think I said --”

“I know it’s him,” Jack said, turning to look at Bitty again. “He’s all over you. And I remember what his voice sounds like.” He paused. “He’s always liked singing.”

Bitty looked away, gripping his bag just a little harder. Was he allowed to do this? Did Kent care if Jack knew? “Um…”

“It’s fine,” said Jack. “Don’t worry about it, Bittle.” He turned back to his computer, closing out of the browser. “I’ve got some homework, so…”

“Right,” said Bitty. “Uh, good luck.” He ducked out of Jack’s doorway, eager to escape.

Sitting down at his own desk, Bitty pushed play, eager to see it himself. The camera angle caught Kent’s lap and the guitar and, just barely, his own feet pushed up against Kent’s thigh. The video started with talking, Bitty’s voice coming from off-camera asking Kent to play him something. Their laughter sounded warm, their voices comfortable with each other. The description under the video read “it’s warm and real and bright.” A commenter asked if Sweetie was with his boyfriend and he’d responded with a simple “yes. :)”

Leaning his chin in his hand, Bitty sighed softly. That boy.

Lord.

He was dating _Kent Parson_. Actual, full-on, we-are-boyfriends dating. A smile crept over his face.

Kent called that night. “Just wanted to let you know I landed safely,” he said. They were playing in Dallas the next day.

“Oh? That all?” Bitty relaxed against his pillows, Señor Bun sitting on his chest.

“’Course it isn’t,” Kent said. “I miss you.” He sighed.

“I miss you, too,” Bitty said. “But, uh. There’s something I wanted to ask you, since you’re on the phone --”

“Yeah?”

“Can I, um. I mean, can I tell people?”

Kent laughed. “Tell people what?”

“That I’m dating NHL star Kent Parson?” Bitty rolled his eyes. “C’mon. I mean --”

“Ew,” Kent said, “never say _NHL star Kent Parson_ to me again, deal?”

“So do you care if I tell people,” Bitty continued, “or --”

“I don’t care who you tell,” Kent said easily. “I’d tell the entire world right now. But… if _I_ tell people, you’ll get visits from the press. I don’t think you’d like that.”

Bitty bit his lower lip. He wasn’t out to his parents. What if they saw an article? “Um…”

“I thought so,” Kent said. His voice was gentle and soft. “Listen, I don’t mind. You tell whoever you want. And when you’re ready for me to tell people, I promise I’ll be more than happy to.”

“And until then?”

Kent sighed. “Until then, I can say that I have a boyfriend who doesn’t want media attention, if you want. Or I can say nothing, if you’d prefer that.” He paused. “... Is it okay if I tell people I know won’t tell anyone? Like, not publicly, but --”

“Yes,” Bitty said.

“I won’t say anything in interviews,” Kent said. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I’m mostly talking about hockey in those. I have to get through the season and so do you. We can figure it out later.”

Bitty rubbed the back of his neck. “Lord, I’m sorry. I mean, I wish I could go to the awards with you.”

“You can if you want,” Kent said. “It’s up to you. It’s not gonna hurt me, whatever you decide.” He took a breath. “You know what I realized?”

“What’s that?”

“We can video chat now,” Kent said.

“Uh huh,” said Bitty. “We’ve _been_ doing that, baby.”

“I mean, for real.” Kent laughed. “Like, face to face.”

“I know, sweetheart,” said Bitty. He smiled. “You’re so cute.”

Two days later, after careful plotting and schedule coordination, Bitty managed to catch Shitty alone in a rather deserted corner of the library. “Hey,” he said. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Yeah, Bits.” Shitty grabbed a book from the shelf and carried it to the only study cubicle in the area. “What’s up?”

“Well.” Bitty took a deep breath. He'd struggled with how to phrase his news, remembering how awkward he’d felt coming out. Shitty was a safe choice. He knew that. Jack... Jack was a mistake. “Okay. So, I’ve thought about talking to you about this before, but it didn’t seem too important until recently. You remember how, um, I stayed in Boston after the Bruins game?” Bitty shifted his bag on his shoulder.

Shitty grinned. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, um -- I was seeing my boyfriend,” Bitty said.

“That’s ’swawesome!” Shitty leaned back on the bench. “Cool, man. You know, you could’ve just told us, though.”

“Not exactly,” Bitty said, pitching his voice lower. “I’m, um. I’m dating Kent Parson.”

Shitty stared at him. “Holy _shit_ ,” he said, after a minute, lowering his own voice. “When did you -- was it the kegster?”

“Uh, no. I kind of met him online,” Bitty said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s complicated.”

It took a while to tell the whole story. He didn’t want to reveal more about Kent’s YouTube videos than necessary, because it seemed as though Kent had taken a lot of pains to ensure their anonymity. Still, by the time he was done, Shitty was staring at him with wide eyes, a grin spreading across his face.

It felt good.

About a week later, Bitty was in the kitchen making a pie when the mail came.

“Bitty! There’s a letter for you!” Holster dropped it on the kitchen counter just next to Bitty’s elbow, narrowly missing the flour he was working with. Glancing at it, Bitty recognized the neat handwriting on the outside -- he knew who it was from.

Once he’d gotten his pie in to bake and washed his hands, Bitty picked up the envelope. Flipping it over, he laughed. The thing was _wax-sealed_. Who did that? He shook his head, sighing a little.

Kent Parson, that’s who. He didn’t seem to do anything by halves, did he?

Tearing it open, Bitty set the envelope aside and unfolded the letter. It looked like a _summons_ . _Pack an overnight bag, wear something nice, I’ll send a car…_ Bitty felt his face heating with an intense blush. The 15th was the day _after_ Valentine’s Day, but still. That had to be what this was, right?

Oh, Kent. They’d only just seen each other! Was this necessary? Bitty thought that the Aces were playing in Edmonton that weekend, anyway. Was Kent missing a game? Bitty supposed that this game didn’t matter much in terms of the Aces’ playoff run, but still. It was ridiculous.

Bitty loved it.

When Saturday rolled around, Bitty had packed a bag as instructed. Wearing his red bow tie, navy blazer, and tan slacks, he made his way downstairs.

Ransom whistled. “Bitty! Where you off to?”

“I have a date!” Bitty said, straightening his tie. “Y’all don’t wait up, okay?”

“Is this with Mr. Boston?” Holster asked.

A private car pulled up.

“I’ll see y’all later,” Bitty said.

“Remember to protect that hot hockey ass!” Shitty yelled after him.

The driver greeted him amiably and Bitty settled into the back seat, setting his bag on the floor. He wiped his hands nervously on the seat. What was Kent _planning_?

Eventually, the car pulled up to the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. Bitty stared at it as he went inside, following his instructions by heading directly to the corner suite. It only took a moment for Kent to open the door once Bitty knocked.

He looked… incredible. The forest green of his suit brought out the green in his eyes, and he was wearing his glasses. Kent smiled a little, stepping forward to take Bitty’s bag. “You made it,” he said. Leaning forward, he gently kissed Bitty’s cheek. The ghost of his cologne reached Bitty a moment later, herbal and familiar.

Bitty’s breath caught in his throat.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Kent said. “Sorry it’s a day late.” Turning, he led Bitty into the room, setting his bag down on a nearby table. It was a shame when he turned around, honestly. Bitty could’ve watched him walk around all night. That suit fit like it was made for him, tailoring perfect from every angle. Hell, it probably was. Shitty was right. He had to protect that glorious hockey ass.

“That’s okay,” Bitty said. “I’m surprised you’re here at all -- don’t y’all have a game?”

“I took a healthy scratch,” Kent said. “I can miss a game without being sick.” He reached for Bitty’s hand, threaded their fingers together. “I wanted to see you. I don’t know when I’ll be able to again, and this was easy enough.”

Bitty turned and Kent pulled him closer, bringing their combined hands up to his lips. He kissed Bitty’s knuckles gently. “Is that okay?”

 

“Of course it’s okay,” Bitty said. “Lord. Look at you.” He ran the fingers of his free hand down Kent’s lapel. It was _gorgeous_ and Bitty didn’t think he’d ever touched a suit that felt so _…_ so… expensive. “What is this?”

“Brioni,” Kent said.

“Oh my god,” said Bitty. The thing was probably worth more than a semester at Samwell. He brushed his thumb across the gold of Kent’s tie.

“I _know_ ,” Kent said. He laughed, the warmth of his breath ghosting over Bitty’s knuckles.

Bitty shivered, stomach fluttering. When he looked up from Kent’s chest their eyes met.

Kent smiled again. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, trying very hard to focus on said dinner and not… dessert. So to speak. His fingers tingled where Kent had kissed them. “Dinner.”

He turned, releasing Bitty’s hand and gesturing toward a table next the windows. “It should be arriving shortly,” he said. Crossing the room, he pulled out a chair. “Sit.” After pouring wine for the both of them, Kent sat across from Bitty. His hair was pale gold in the soft lighting.

“Aren’t you fancy?” Bitty said. “What is this?”

“What d’you mean?” Kent grinned. “Happy Valentine’s Day. This is what people do, right? Go on fancy dates?” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess it’s not a real date, though.”

“Honey,” Bitty said, “this is the realest date I’ve ever been on.”

Dinner started with a Provencal salad. Everything was delivered directly to their room but Kent took responsibility for setting it in front of Bitty, hands graceful. The main course was coq au vin, served with parsley potatoes. Kent laughed after tasting it and declared that it was nothing in comparison to his grandmother’s, which set off a very long conversation about family recipes. As their food slowly disappeared, they talked about school and hockey and how Bitty had told Shitty he was dating Kent.

“I don’t think he’ll tell anyone without my permission,” Bitty said.

“Who you tell is entirely up to you.” Kent smiled. “I don’t mind. Swear to god, Eric.”

Gâteau Basque was a dessert Bitty was familiar with in name, but not taste. It was a simple enough thing, a classic French cake filled with vanilla crème anglaise and brandied cherry custard. Kent watched Bitty take the first bite as if he were waiting for something. Bitty swallowed. “What?”

“How is it?” he asked.

Bitty laughed. “Taste it!” he said.

Kent took a bite and chewed slowly. “I like it,” he announced.

“Me too,” said Bitty, “but I bet you’d like my pie better.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Kent said. “Next time I’ll rent an apartment so you can bake.”

Bitty flushed. “Next time, huh?” he murmured.

“Well --” Kent sighed. “I don’t know when that’ll be. After the season’s over, I guess.” He glanced out the window. “That’s a long time, I know.”

“I have to go home for the summer,” Bitty said.

“Maybe you can visit me?” Kent suggested. “I mean -- look, Vegas is boring when you’re underage, but I sometimes visit my mom in New York during the summer. Tonawanda’s pretty. I think you’d like it.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Reaching across the table, Bitty grasped Kent’s hand. “Maybe _you_ can come see _me_ for your birthday.”

Kent grinned. “What, and have a real American Fourth of July, huh?”

Bitty laughed. “I gotta feed you my apple pie,” he said. “And I want you to have a better birthday than last year.”

Kent’s brilliant smile just melted his heart.

After their dinner was finished and the dishes deposited outside the suite door, Kent flipped the lock and turned to face Bitty. “So,” he said, leaning on the door.

“So,” said Bitty. He grinned and turned, heading for the bed. He didn’t bother to look to see if Kent was following him. As soon as he entered the bedroom, he couldn’t help but let out a small squeak of surprise. The bed was _massive_. Bitty threw himself onto it face first and then rolled over, spreading his arms out as wide as they could go. It was heaven.

After a moment, Bitty sat up and scooted to the head of the bed to lean against the pillows. It took a moment to adjust them how he wanted them, but Bitty made a decent pile of them behind his back. When Kent entered, hands loosening his tie, he laughed.

“You comfy?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. He patted the bed in front of him. “C’mere.”

Kent tossed his jacket onto the bench near the window. His tie followed, and then his shoes. That done, he crawled into the bed, settling between Bitty’s legs. Leaning back, Kent wiggled a little, fitting his hips into the space between Bitty’s thighs. “I’m gonna crush you,” he said.

Bitty laughed. “You’re not _that_ much bigger than me!” Sliding his arm around Kent’s waist, he shifted a little. It took a few more seconds for them to get comfortable, but soon they were watching some terrible television show about aliens while Bitty rested his chin on Kent’s shoulder.

“This is what I wanted,” Kent said, after a long moment passed.

“Hmm?”

“Yeah, just -- you know. To spend time with you.” He turned his head, pressing a quick kiss to Bitty’s cheek. Looking back at the television, Kent crossed his ankles, accidentally rubbing a golden sock against Bitty's heel. It slipped further down his foot, revealing a bit of the geometric design. It reminded Bitty of something he'd seen in one of Jack's history books, or Lardo's art ones -- Aztec, maybe?

Kent let out a soft sigh, settling deeper against Bitty. Some of the tension dropped out of his shoulders.

They sat like that for a while, laughing over the awful television show. Bitty rubbed his hand up and down Kent’s upper arm, feeling the swell of his bicep. He squeezed lightly, curling fingers over hard muscle, and pressed a soft kiss to Kent’s neck. Working the fingers of one hand up under Kent’s shirt, he brushed them over soft skin. Kent shivered against Bitty, but his eyes were still on the television.

Bitty let his tongue glide over the pulse in Kent’s neck. Kent’s breath hitched a little as Bitty kissed just below his ear. He tilted his head, allowing further access to his neck. “Eric --”

“Yes?” Bitty nipped at Kent’s earlobe and then ran his tongue gently along the skin again. He let his hand fall to the tented front of Kent’s trousers.

Kent swore and Bitty smiled against the skin of his neck. He pressed harder, fingers following the outline of Kent’s dick. The wool of that suit was a luxury in its own right, soft and malleable under Bitty’s hand. It would be a shame to get anything on such expensive trousers. Bitty slid his other hand down to concentrate on unzipping them and pushing them down Kent’s thighs. Kent lifted his hips easily. Bitty slid his hands back up over bare skin, pressing gently, before wrapping his fingers around Kent’s cock and giving it a single firm stroke.

Kent’s head tilted back, resting against Bitty’s shoulder. He twisted, dragging one hand up to curl fingers into Bitty’s hair, grip tightening.

He twisted his hand and Kent shuddered. “Ah -- _god_ \--”

While Bitty had certainly fantasized about Kent in myriad ways, none of those had really prepared him for the way Kent’s voice sounded in person, the way he felt in Bitty’s hands. The soft whimpers and gasps, the sounds he made when Bitty touched him -- it was all so much _better_ in reality than in his fantasies. There was still so much of him to explore, so many things Bitty wanted to experience. When Kent jerked up into his touch, coming with Bitty’s name on his lips, it was everything Bitty had ever hoped it would be. When Kent pushed him down and rode him until they were both spent and gasping, it was more.

He fell asleep with Kent’s head tucked under his chin, their limbs tangled together the middle of the giant bed. When Bitty woke in the morning, sore but still satisfied, the bed seemed bigger than when he’d fallen asleep. He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. Pale sunlight peeked through curtains, suggesting early morning.

Kent’s voice floated out of the shower. He was only humming, some old song Bitty faintly recognized but whose name he couldn’t quite place. Swinging his legs out of bed, he stretched before heading into the bathroom. Kent was rinsing his hair, the water sliding over him making the bathroom like a scene out of a movie. Bitty smiled softly. Cute.

“Whatcha singin’, honey?” he asked.

Kent jumped a little, turning around quickly in the shower. “Ah, f-- Eric!” He shut the water off. “God, sorry. I woke you, didn’t I? I was trying to be quiet --”

Bitty laughed. Grabbing a towel, he held it out as Kent opened the shower door. “It’s fine,” he said. “I needed to get up. What were you singing?”

Kent took the towel and briskly dried his skin. “Just some old song my mom used to sing me,” he said. He wandered out of the bathroom, towel discarded on the floor. “What time is it?”

Bitty brushed his teeth and washed his face before rejoining Kent in the bedroom. Kent was shimmying into a pair of jeans, his damp hair a faintly waving blond mess. He shrugged into a teal sweater and sat on the bed to pull on socks. He was wearing his glasses again.

“You have to go soon,” Kent said. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “I have -- class and practice and probably some homework and --”

“You should’ve brought your homework,” Kent said. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna help me with my calculus?” Bitty laughed.

Kent flushed. “Well, I -- I’m good at math,” he said. He looked away from Bitty, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. “I know I didn’t go to college or anything, but I started taking calculus. It’s just a free class online, not a real class, but --”

“Hey.” Bitty sat next to him. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” he said.

Kent didn’t say anything. Reaching over, he took one of Bitty’s hands in his, lacing their fingers together. “No, I know you didn’t,” he said. “It’s fine. Next time, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Bitty, “I’ll definitely bring stuff to bore you with next time, sweetheart. Now tell me about that song.”

Kent frowned.

“The one from the shower,” Bitty prompted. “I like it.”

“Oh,” said Kent. “ _La Vie en Rose_.” The French title tripped easily out of his mouth. Bitty wanted to kiss him. “D’you know it?”

Bitty shook his head.

Kent smiled. “I’ll cover it for you,” he said. “But for now -- you wanna watch shitty TV and eat breakfast before you go? I’ll bet someone on _Days of Our Lives_ is pregnant.”

Daytime television and breakfast didn’t take nearly long enough. Before he’d realized it, Bitty was re-packing his bag while Kent ordered a car for him, preparing to send him back to Samwell and make his own evening flight back to Vegas.

Kent pressed a gentle kiss to Bitty’s forehead. “Text me,” he said, “so I know you got back safe. Okay?”

“Okay, baby.” Bitty swallowed. His throat felt tight. “I will. And we’ll see each other soon, right?”

“Yeah,” Kent said, “sure. Video chat and all that.” He brushed his thumb across Bitty’s cheek. “Eric, I --” His phone chimed softly from his pocket and he sighed. “The car’s here.”

Bitty thought about the soft way Kent had touched his face and the sentence he hadn’t finished all the way home.

Kent posted a cover of _La Vie en Rose_ that night, sung all in French. It was recorded in the familiar setting of his living room, Kent sitting in an armchair with his cat next to him. His voice was warm and sweet, and Bitty played the video over again every day for a week.

School closed in on him, requiring more of his attention as midterms approached. Following those exams and Bitty’s less than stellar performance on them, their nighttime chats began to take place during study sessions. Kent seemed to find some kind of strange joy in doing Bitty’s calculus problems with him and comparing their answers -- he was better at it than Bitty. When Bitty asked him to explain how he’d arrived at a solution, his whole face seemed to light up. Kent joked about getting a whiteboard so he could do math on video.

Bitty began to save all his math homework for last so they could do it together.

They chatted via Skype video as often as possible given their schedules. Kent was in his glasses more often than not, sitting in bed and reading to Bitty from various hotel rooms. He was a little more honest with how hockey was going, but only when directly asked and often while chewing on his St. Michael medal and avoiding looking directly into the camera. The Aces were still on track for the playoffs and Kent was still scoring well, even if he _was_ having to work a little harder for it. He admitted to being insulted regularly, but insisted that it wasn’t a big deal.

Bitty wasn’t so sure about that. Kent’s smile was a little less bright after some games, and he seemed subdued. On this particular night Kent was at home, his cat milling around in the background as he settled into bed. They’d been chatting a little while, and it was close to Kent’s bedtime. As always, he’d gotten out his Harry Potter book to read.

Kent scrunched his nose, squinting at the book. “W-- oh.” He laughed. “Hang on.” Reaching to his left, he picked up his glasses and flicked them to open the arms. Sliding them onto his face, he squinted again.

Bitty’s heart surged. “You really do need those glasses, huh?” He laughed. “I love you. You’re just the cutest thing, I swear. How do you manage on the ice?”

Kent looked up at the webcam, eyes wide behind his glasses. His cheeks reddened with a blush. “Oh,” he said. “I, um. I -- I love you too, Eric.” He glanced away quickly, looking back down at the book in his hands.

Bitty's face heated with its own blush. Fiddling with Señor Bun, he twisted the Stanley Cup ring around the toy’s ears.

When Kent looked back up, he was grinning. “Is Señor Bun wearing my ring as a hat?”

Bitty laughed. “It’s a crown. He’s a fancy bun,” he said, holding the stuffed animal a little tighter. “C’mon. It’s late, and I’ve got a long day tomorrow. Playoffs, you know.”

“Oh yeah,” Kent said, “I know, sunshine.”

Playoffs weighed heavily on Bitty’s mind. It was the last chance both Jack and Shitty had for Samwell to win, and everyone on the team felt that keenly. They were all giving their best, and so far, it seemed to be working. Samwell continued to advance into semi-finals.

The Frozen Four… didn’t end how Bitty had hoped.

Samwell came in second. It was a bitter disappointment, and one that Bitty didn’t immediately call Kent to share. When he wrapped his arms around Jack and Jack didn’t pull away, Bitty couldn’t help but realize how much _bigger_ Jack was than Kent. They were so different from each other, but when Jack leaned into Bitty’s hug, they suddenly seemed the same.

When Bitty called Kent that night, he sounded genuinely sorry to hear that Samwell came in second. “You guys played well, though,” Kent said. After a moment of silence, he asked if Jack was okay. “I know you’re close,” Kent said. “And it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. It’s just –“

“It meant a lot to him,” Bitty said, “I know.” Even after everything that had happened between them, Kent still cared about Jack. Bitty knew that. “It was just disappointing.”

“You’re a good friend,” Kent said softly. “I’m glad.”

By contrast, the Aces were continuing to do well. They made it into the Stanley Cup playoffs, which meant Kent was… well, extremely busy. The Aces were playing Chicago, the first set of games slated to take place in Vegas.

It was a rough game, though from the way the referees were calling -- or, rather, _not calling_ \-- penalties, it would’ve been tough to tell without watching. The first period went without a single goal, and the second saw both teams take one goal each within minutes of each other. Shot after shot on the goals went by without a single point, though the Blackhawks were shooting more often. The Aces cycled through several line changes in an attempt to change the game’s momentum. There were just two minutes left in the second period as Kent went after the puck, racing along the boards to get to it.

The Blackhawks’ number 88 slammed into him, and Bitty couldn’t see exactly what happened, but when he looked back to the television screen Kent was face down on the ice near the Aces’ bench, unmoving, and gameplay was stopped while 88 took a fist to face from his own teammate, number 17. Jeff Troy came off the bench, jumping on 88 instantly. Referees descended on the fight, struggling to break up both teams’ players amid loud rumbling from the stands.

“He hit the stanchion,” Holster said. “I mean he fucking _slammed_ him into that --”

“I think he hit his head, bro –“

Bitty’s eyes widened as Kent began to convulse on the ice. It lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like an hour. Medical staff was already next to him, but it didn’t matter. Bitty’s throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe.

“Holy _shit –_ is he having a seizure?”

Shitty gripped Bitty’s shoulder tightly. “Bits. It’s --”

“Oh my god,” Bitty said. He had to get to Vegas, and he knew there was at least one person who might feel the same, who might be able to get him there. He turned, wildly looking around the room.

Jack was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much piesnpucks and rhysiana for edits. I truly appreciate y'all's time.
> 
> Well. I have nothing else to say.  
> Oh, wait. Yes I do. If you know who no.88 is it should be obvious why I picked him.
> 
> No.17 is a loan character from [zimmboniandbitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dauntperplexity/pseuds/IprotectKennyP).
> 
> Also, hi! I'm sorry! I still don't know what the endgame ship is! OML


	17. don't wait 'til the water runs dry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the Blackhawks' no.88 being mentioned by name briefly in this chapter as well as a bit of description of injury.

When Bitty looked back to the TV, Jeff Troy had already deserted the fight and come to Kent’s side on the ice. Medical crews brought a stretcher out as Kane argued with the referee, nose bloody. The Blackhawks’ captain, just to the side, held number 17 back from an obvious second surge in Kane’s direction. Kent still wasn’t moving, hadn’t moved since he stopped convulsing. Bitty thought he saw blood on the ice next to him.

Bitty stood up. “I have to --” he couldn’t even finish the sentence. Fleeing the living room, he took the stairs two at a time. Jack’s door was open when Bitty reached the landing.

“Yes,” Jack said, just as Bitty stepped through his doorway. “Correct. B-i-t-t-l-e.” A pause. “Mhm.”

“Jack,” Bitty said.

Jack held up a hand, staving off further words from Bitty. He turned away, continuing to speak quietly into his phone. After finishing his call, Jack threw his cell phone onto his bed. “Pack,” he said, finally turning to Bitty, “now. We’re going to Vegas. You’ve got fifteen minutes before we have to be out the door.”

“Jack,” Bitty said again.

“Fifteen minutes, Bittle,” Jack said. When Bitty didn’t move, he sighed. Taking a step forward, he placed a hand on Bitty’s shoulder. “Bitty. _Pack_. We’re going.”

A gentle push from Jack sent Bitty scrambling to his room. He pulled out a bag and threw things into it -- a Harry Potter book, clothes, his homework, Señor Bun. Hesitating, Bitty pulled Bun back out. Should he bring him?

“C’mon,” Jack said from the doorway. “We gotta go.”

Bitty stuffed Bun into his bag. “Let me grab my toothbrush,” he said. It only took a second to duck into the bathroom and then they were down the stairs and out the door, giving only the most cursory of explanations for their behavior.

The Uber ride to the airport was completely silent. Bitty didn’t feel like talking and Jack had never been one to start heavy conversations. Once they arrived, Jack and Bitty ran inside as fast as they could, checking in and getting through security with _just_ enough time to board the plane during its final call for passengers.

Jack put Bitty in the window seat, insisting that he didn’t need it. Bitty, never nervous on planes before, found himself gripping the armrest with white-knuckled hands. He couldn’t shake the tight feeling in his chest. He’d checked his phone a dozen times before putting it on airplane mode, but there weren’t any replies from Kent. Was he okay? Surely he was _alive_ , right?

“You okay?”

Bitty turned to look at Jack’s frowning face. “Oh! I’m sorry -- yeah, I’m -- I’m fine,” he said.

The corner of Jack’s mouth lifted just a little. “Bittle,” he said. “You’re shaking my seat with your leg.”

Now that Jack mentioned it, Bitty realized his leg was bouncing like MooMaw’s sewing machine needle. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jack said. “I get it.”

“I just --” Bitty swallowed. The hit continued to play over in his mind, followed by the fight between two Blackhawks players. Ever since seeing it on TV, it plagued him. “I can’t believe that Kane’s own teammate punched him in the face,” he said, voice soft.

“Keats,” said Jack. “We played with him in Juniors. Kent and I, I mean.”

“Oh,” Bitty said. He hadn’t heard Jack say _we_ in reference to Kent… ever, actually. When he glanced at Jack, their eyes met. Jack smiled an almost imperceptible smile.

“Keats is a good person,” Jack said. “I grew up with him. He’s --” he shook his head. “He’s a mess. But a great guy. I’m sure that there’s more to it than it looked like.”

Bitty chewed his lower lip. “Okay,” he said. He just couldn’t get the image of Kent convulsing on the ice out of his mind. Glancing out the window, he tried to calm the twisting in his stomach.

“Hey.” Jack’s voice cut through his thoughts. “We’ll be there in a few hours. You should try to sleep.” He leaned his head back against his seat.

Try to sleep? No way in hell. “I’ve never seen someone have a seizure like that.” Bitty pressed his hands against his face. “D’you think he’s okay? Do you think he’s awake? Should I -- should I have called? I mean, I texted him, but --”

“He probably couldn’t answer, anyway,” Jack said quietly. “They’ll take care of him at the hospital.”

“Lord,” Bitty said. “He _hates_ the hospital. He --” Was anyone even _with_ Kent? Someone had to be, surely. Bitty hated to think of him sitting in the hospital alone.

He should’ve called. Even if Kent couldn’t answer, Bitty should’ve _called_ . Kent was going to wake up and think -- _lord_ , what if he didn’t even _wake up_? Bitty hadn’t seen anything past Kent being loaded on a stretcher. He hadn’t been awake. What if he --

Jack pushed the armrest between their seats up. He slid an arm around Bitty’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug. “C’mere.” He let out a deep, windy breath.

Bitty let Jack tuck him close against his side. He was warm and solid. Strong. Bitty closed his eyes. “I’m worried,” he said softly.

“I know,” Jack said. “Me, too. Just -- breathe, okay?”

Opening his eyes, Bitty sucked in a quick breath. He didn’t feel better.

“We have about four more hours,” Jack said. His thumb gently brushed back and forth against Bitty’s shoulder. The rhythm was comforting, somehow. “Just -- here. Breathe in for four counts and out for four counts, okay? I’ll count.”

Nodding, Bitty closed his eyes again. As Jack softly counted to four, he breathed in.

“Hold it,” Jack said.

Bitty held his breath.

“Okay. Out for four counts. Ready? One…”

Bitty didn’t know how long Jack counted and he breathed, but he woke up when the plane landed. Jack’s head rested on top of his, his breathing gentle and slow. “Jack,” he murmured. “Wake up. We’re here.” It was 2:45 in the morning -- Las Vegas time, according to the stewardess.

Jack jerked awake, immediately checking his watch. He stood, getting their bags down from the overhead bins while Bitty stretched.

Checking his phone, Bitty saw he had a single voicemail. He listened to it immediately while other passengers filed off the plane.

_Hi Eric, this is Sara._

Sara? Oh, right. One of the Aces’ PR people. Bitty remembered Kent speaking of her -- she was one of the people he’d told about their relationship. In the voicemail, she sounded intensely annoyed.

_Kent has asked me to call you and tell you that he’s fine, but I can see from your text messages that you’re likely heading this way -- we’re at Las Vegas General in room 619. He’s in a CT scan now, but I’ll read him your messages when I’m able. Call if you have questions._

“Bittle,” Jack said.

Bitty looked up at him. He lowered his phone, having the distinct impression that Jack had said his name multiple times before he’d noticed.

“We’re getting off the plane now,” said Jack. He was holding both their bags.

“We need a taxi,” Bitty said.

“I got it,” Jack said. “C’mon. You gotta get up.”

Bitty stood, lower back complaining about how long he’d been curled up in the seat. He followed Jack off the plane. Should he try to call now? The voicemail was from… well, hours ago.

But what if Kent was sleeping? Or what if --

“Bitty.” Jack’s voice interrupted his thoughts again. “Hey. We’re gonna go this way, see --” he gestured at the signs for the taxi stands. “You know where we’re going?”

“Las Vegas General,” Bitty said.

“Okay,” said Jack.

The taxi took about twenty minutes. Bitty felt them all pass, sitting in the back, bouncing his leg. Jack had taken charge of the situation, loading their baggage and announcing their destination, leaving Bitty with nothing to do beyond check his phone and stare out the window. It felt as though it took _years_ to get to the hospital. As soon as the cab pulled up, Bitty yanked the door open, heading for the lobby without looking back. Stepping through the entrance, he paused in the lobby, taking a moment to try and locate the nearest elevator.

A man at a security desk glanced at him. “Can I help you?”

“Ah --”

“Eric,” said a faintly familiar female voice behind him. “You made it. Good.”

Bitty turned. A chubby woman wearing glasses had stopped right behind him, obviously looking him over. “You must be Sara,” Bitty said. “Can you tell me where the elevator is? Is Kent okay?”

“Well,” said Sara, “there’s a nurse in there with him right now, and they haven’t been letting him sleep, but --” she paused, softening a little. “He’ll be so glad to see you. I promised I’d go feed his cat, but you can go on up.” She looked past him. “You brought _Jack_ with you?” Looking back at Bitty’s face, she raised a brow. “Really?”

“Well, I --”

Jack came to stand next to Bitty, holding their bags. “It okay if we go up?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” Sara said. “And Eric? Don’t let him say you shouldn’t have come. I’ll be back later.”

Bitty and Jack got on the elevator. Bitty pushed the button, bouncing on the balls of his feet. They only had to get to the sixth floor, but impatience bubbled in his throat. Obviously Kent was awake, according to Sara. But -- but was he _okay_? Really okay?

Kent wasn’t very good at admitting when he wasn’t okay.

Bitty stepped off the elevator. According to the signs, he needed to go… left, to get to room 19. Heading down the hallway, Bitty stopped just by the door. It was halfway open, and he could hear voices inside. Should he wait? What if it was something important? He paused, looking up at Jack.

Jack shrugged.

It sounded like a nurse was talking to Kent. She asked him to complete some tasks and repeat words.

“Tip-top,” the nurse said.

“Tip-top,” Kent repeated. The list of words continued. “Fifty-fifty. Thanks. Huckleberry. Baseball player. Caterpillar.”

“Okay,” the nurse said, “now just tell me what they’re doing in this picture.”

Kent sighed. “I just _did_ this,” he said. “I --”

“I know,” she said, “and this is the last time. You’ve been doing great. Just play along, okay?”

“The lady is washing dishes,” Kent said slowly, “while her kids get in the cabinet and try to steal cookies or whatever.”

“Okay,” said the nurse. “And?”

Another sigh from Kent. “And the sink’s running over, and… my eye really hurts, is that normal?”

“Yes. Do you remember us talking about that?”

“I can’t remember,” Kent said. He groaned. “This is it. I can’t remember things from, what, an hour ago? I have hit rock bottom. It’s--”

Bitty couldn’t wait any more. He pushed the door all the way open. The nurse turned to look at him. Jack stepped in after Bitty.

Kent glanced to the nurse for a moment, and then back to Bitty. “Eric?” He was wearing a hospital gown and his glasses and he looked -- well, like hell. All the white of his left eye was a bloody red, and bruises were forming around his hairline below a small cut. His hair was an absolute mess. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Baby.” Bitty crossed the room instantly, Jack forgotten, and wound his arms around Kent as he sat directly on the mattress. Had he lost weight? He felt thinner than he had in February. “Oh my god. Are you _okay_ ? I’ve been worryin’ about you the whole way here -- I was watchin’ the game on TV and I thought -- and they _carried you off the ice_ like that and --”

“I thought -- Sara was supposed to call you --” Kent’s arm snaked around Bitty’s waist, pulling him close, holding him tight. He was shaking. “You have _school_. It’s --”

“Fine, is what it is,” Bitty said, trying to force his voice into a more relaxing tone. Kent didn’t need him to freak out, not when he was already clearly so shaken. “She _did_ call me. I was already on a plane. Lord, let me look at you.” Kent’s hold on him didn’t relax. “Baby. Let me loose a minute, here --” Leaning back, he brushed gentle fingers over Kent’s cheek, wiping away tears. “Honey. Are you okay? Really?”

“I’m fine,” Kent said. His breath hitched. “I’m fine. I can’t stop crying and I think I’m gonna throw up, but I’m fine. It’s just my head.” He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand.

He didn’t look _fine_ at all.

Jack stepped further into the room as the nurse left and Kent stared at him with wide eyes. He said nothing, merely tightened his grip on Bitty again. Jack waited a moment before sitting in a small chair near the window.

“You have school,” Kent repeated, turning back to Bitty as though Jack weren’t there at all. “You can’t miss class. It’s almost time for your finals.”

“I can miss some classes,” Bitty said, “if I want to. It’s not that big a deal. Hush.” He scooted further into the bed, tucking Kent close to his side. “C’mere.”

“They won’t let me sleep,” Kent said. “I’m --” he closed his eyes and buried his face against Bitty’s neck. “I’m so tired.” He sighed, curling his fingers against Bitty’s ribs. “When did you even _leave_?”

“I don’t know, around one, I think.” Bitty stroked his fingers back and forth along Kent’s neck. “It doesn’t matter, honey. I’m here.”

“Mmm.” Kent let out a soft sigh. “Who won the game?”

“Y’all did, honey,” Bitty said. “Didn’t they tell you? Your boys came out and scored three points in the third period.”

“No,” said Kent, and then, “I don’t know. Maybe I forgot.” He sighed softly, relaxing into Bitty’s arms. “... Was it bad?”

“What, baby?”

“The hit. I don’t really remember it.”

“It wasn’t good.” Bitty kissed Kent’s forehead. “Don’t worry about it. You just rest, okay?”

“Mmm.” Kent closed his eyes. “Don’t watch replay of it. I’m sure it looked worse than it was.”

Bitty looked over to Jack. He was just sort of sitting, quietly watching them. After a few minutes, Kent sagged against Bitty a little.

“I think he’s asleep,” Jack said softly.

“Is he allowed to be asleep?” Bitty shifted just a little, leaning against the pillows. Kent was heavy against him. Bitty gingerly lifted his glasses from his face, setting them on the bedside table.

“It’s been hours since the incident,” Jack said. “Let him sleep. I’m sure they’ll wake him up again after a bit. It’s fine.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Can I, um. Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.” Bitty brushed gentle fingers back and forth across Kent’s shoulders. They were both keeping their voices low.

“How long have you guys been… seeing each other?” Jack shifted in his chair.

“Um…” Bitty chewed his lower lip. “We’ve been talking for over a year,” he admitted, after a stretch of silence. “It’s complicated.”

“But the kegster --”

“That’s complicated, too,” Bitty said.

Kent pushed away from Bitty quite suddenly. “Where’s my glasses?”

Bitty hadn’t even realized he was awake. “Sweetheart, what are you doing?” He reached for the glasses, handing them to Kent.

“I, um. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” Kent said. He pushed his glasses on quickly. “It’ll only take a minute.” He sat up, scooting out of the bed and standing quickly. He got about three steps away from the bed before he swayed a little, putting a hand out.

Jack stood immediately, grasping at Kent’s shoulders just in time for Kent to pitch forward and vomit directly onto his bright yellow trainers.

“Oh god,” Kent said, bracing himself on Jack’s upper arms. “Fuck. Shit. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I thought -- I thought I was hallucinating you. I --” he gagged again.

“Okay,” said Jack, “all right, Kenny. Let’s just -- let’s put you back in bed, okay?”

Bitty pushed the call light.

“I’m so sorry,” Kent said again, this time to Bitty. “I didn’t think he was real. _Fuck_. I’m sorry.”

“Why wouldn’t I be real?” Jack asked, once he’d gotten Kent sitting on the bed again. He sat back in the chair, pulling off his shoes and throwing them into the nearest trashcan.

Kent laughed. “Why would you ever really be here?” he asked.

Jack’s head jerked up, eyes wide. He stared at Kent.

“You hate me,” said Kent, leaning his elbows on his knees and holding his head in both hands. “And I just threw up on your shoes. God. Someone please end this hell.”

“I don’t _hate_ you,” Jack said.

The nurse entered the room, taking sight of Kent sitting on the side of the bed, Bitty hovering over him, and the mess on the floor. “You’re not supposed to be out of bed, Mr. Parson,” she said. “We talked about this.” Grabbing a towel, she tossed it over the vomit without a second glance.

“I’m sorry,” Kent said, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand. He swallowed. “I forgot. I--”

“I’ll get something for nausea,” the nurse said. She glanced at Jack. “And some socks. Okay? It’s all right. These things happen. No big deal. Go ahead and lay back down for me, okay?”

Kent sucked in a breath as she left, quickly tucking himself back under the sheets.

Bitty found a washcloth in the bathroom and ran cold water over it, bringing it back to Kent and setting it gently on his forehead. “You have to rest, you know,” he said. “It was a pretty bad hit.”

“I don’t remember it,” Kent said. He closed his eyes. “My eye hurts. Is it --”

“It looks awful, sweetie.” Bitty carded his fingers through Kent’s hair. “It might hurt for a little while.”

“Okay.” Kent pressed his hands to his face before sitting upright again. “I’m gonna be sick.”

The nurse returned, putting medicine into Kent’s IV. She explained that the nausea, forgetfulness, and confusion were all very normal. After reminding Kent that he needed to stay in bed, she handed Jack a pair of hospital socks, a washcloth, some towels, and a bar of soap. “You might want to wash your feet,” she said.

“I’m really sorry,” Kent said. “I didn’t mean to puke on your shoes.”

“I know,” Jack said. “I’m not mad.” He ducked into the bathroom for a moment and Bitty sighed.

“Why is he here?” Kent asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Bitty said, “because he cares about you?”

Kent frowned. “That sounds fake,” he said.

“Sweetie,” said Bitty. “Y’all need to talk.”

“I don’t want to. My head hurts,” Kent said, changing the subject. Pressing his fingers to his temple, he gingerly prodded the cut. “Do I have a cut up here?”

“It’s very small,” said Bitty. “Probably nobody will notice in a couple of days.” He caught Kent’s hand with his, curling their fingers together. Kent seemed so scattered, much more than usual. His hands were still shaking. “Honey. D’you remember what they said about how you’re doing?”

“Um…” Kent swallowed. “I can’t play for the rest of the season. I think. But I’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure.” He paused. “What time is it?”

“It’s five in the morning,” Jack said, emerging from the bathroom. He returned to his chair, sitting down slowly.

“Five in the _morning_?” Kent looked at Bitty with wide eyes, dismayed. “Eric. You need sleep. You guys can stay at my house,” Kent said. “Swoops will take you. Or Sara. I can -- you can call her. I know she won’t mind. There’s extra sheets in the hall closet and you can set up the guest room for Jack, and --”

“Honey,” Bitty said softly, cutting Kent off, “it’s fine. We’ll figure it out.” He tilted his head, looking at Kent’s face again. Surely he oughtn’t leave him so soon? They’d only just gotten there. “... You sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”

Kent bit his lower lip. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m really -- I probably won’t throw up any more, the medicine is helping. I don’t want you to be tired.” He looked up at Jack.

“’Cause I’m happy to stay with you,” Bitty said.

“It was a long trip for you,” said Kent, turning back to Bitty. “You should rest. You have finals soon.”

“I’ve barely seen you,” Bitty said. “Hush, now. I’m gonna stay a while.” When Kent opened his mouth, Bitty shook his head. “No.”

Kent looked at Jack.

“Don’t look at me,” Jack said. “I can’t make him do anything.”

Kent let his head fall back against the pillow. “I can’t believe this. I’m trying to help you.”

“We’re fine, Kent,” Jack said.

“Can I watch TV?”

After grabbing his copy of _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ from his bag, Bitty tucked himself back in with Kent, tugging the sheet up over Kent’s shoulder. “Not right now,” he said. “I’m pretty sure it’s bad for your brain. Just rest a little, okay? I’ll read to you.”

Jack went to get a cup of coffee, shuffling out of the room in the yellow hospital socks. Bitty ran his fingers through Kent’s hair and whispered to him about how much he loved him before opening the book to the right spot. By the time Jack returned, Kent was asleep again. Bitty was still reading anyway.

Sitting down, Jack watched Bitty for a moment. “ _Harry Potter_ , huh?” he said.

“It’s our thing.” Bitty looked up from the book. “You found some coffee?”

“It’s not sweet or pumpkin flavored,” Jack said, “so I doubt you’ll like it.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a soft smile.

Bitty laughed a little. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m fine. I mean -- I’ll get some in a bit.”

Jack sighed softly. “I can get it for you if you want,” he offered. “It’s fine.”

They both looked up as the door opened. Sara stepped in, closing it softly behind her. She looked at Kent’s sleeping form and frowned. “They say he could sleep?” she asked.

“I didn’t ask,” Bitty said.

Sara frowned. “I’ll go ask,” she said. She stepped out for only a moment before returning. “He can sleep for two hours. How long has it been?”

Bitty shrugged.

“About fifteen minutes,” said Jack.

“Good.” Sara nodded. She looked at Bitty again.

They all ended up sitting quietly, watching Gordon Ramsay yell at people on the cooking channel. Jack and Sara chatted politely about hockey before Bitty told them that he didn’t want to hear anything else about hockey that night. After the show ended, Sara went to make some phone calls for work.

Kent jerked in his sleep. Bitty looked down at him just as he pushed up onto one arm, feet already moving.

“Where are you going?” Bitty asked.

“I have to look in the bathroom.” Kent turned to look at Bitty, brow furrowing for a moment. “Eric?”

“Yes, baby.”

“When did you --”

“You need to stay in bed,” Bitty said.

Kent frowned. “I have to look in the bathroom,” he repeated.

Bitty frowned back. “Why?” he asked. He pressed a gentle hand on Kent’s shoulder. “Here. Lay down, baby. I can look in there for you.”

“Just -- open the door -- I have to open the door,” Kent said, but he let Bitty settle him back against the pillow. He sounded half asleep. Had he been dreaming again?

Glancing at the door, Bitty realized Jack had shut it when he’d come out earlier. He looked back to Kent’s wide eyes. “Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll go open the door. You stay in bed.” Scooting out of the bed, he smiled softly at Kent before walking across the room and opening the bathroom door. Kent sat up, watching him. When the door to the hospital room opened and Jack stepped inside, Kent startled. “You --” he glanced back to Bitty.

“The bathroom’s empty, baby,” Bitty said. He let the door stay open and returned to the bed, but Kent was still staring at Jack.

“But --” Kent swallowed. He scooted back a little in the bed. “I saw you,” he said.

“I know, I was here earlier,” Jack said.

“No,” said Kent. “ _No_.”

“I was,” said Jack. When he stepped closer, Kent leaned further away from him, eyeing him with obvious suspicion.

“I thought you were dead,” Kent said.

Jack stopped moving instantly. He was watching Kent the way he watched people on the ice. “What?”

“In the bathroom. I thought you were dead. I saw you.”

“Kenny --” Jack extended a hand.

“Don’t touch me,” Kent snapped, hunching his shoulders.

Jack pulled his hand back as Kent took a ragged breath.

Bitty reached out, wrapping his fingers gently around Kent’s forearm. His pulse was _racing_. “I think you were dreamin’ again, sweetheart,” he said softly. Kent’s eyes were wild. “It’s okay. We’re at the hospital.”

Turning to face Bitty, Kent let out a heavy breath, by now fully awake. He pressed a hand to his face, closing his eyes. “The hospital. I didn’t -- of course I was. God.” He swallowed. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah.” Bitty touched the back of Kent’s neck. “I know, honey. It’s okay. We’re all fine. You can sleep a bit more, if you want.”

Kent laid back down, curling up on his side to face away from Jack. Bitty gently rubbed his back. Glancing at Jack, he shook his head in answer to the questioning look on Jack’s face.

“Later,“ Bitty said.

Later turned out to be after the nurse asked them to step out so she could assess how Kent was doing. He couldn’t sleep more than two hours at a time, and given the vomiting and confusion, she had to be more thorough with her assessment. Bitty and Jack took the opportunity to go and find a bathroom and something to eat, while Sara stayed near Kent’s room, tapping on her phone from time to time.

Bitty splashed water over his face before stepping out of the bathroom. He gave Jack a tired smile. “I’m glad he’s doing okay,” he said. “All things considered, I guess. You think they’ll let him go home soon?”

“Yeah. As long as everything looks okay, I’m sure they’ll let him go home.” Jack rubbed his upper arm.

“I can’t believe he threw up on your shoes,” Bitty said. He let out a light laugh. “Poor thing.”

“Bittle,” said Jack. “Back there --”

Bitty looked around the waiting room. “Not here.” He headed back down the hall, looking for an empty room they could duck in. He had a feeling about where this conversation was headed, and it didn’t need an audience.

Once they’d found a room and shut the door, Bitty turned to face Jack. “So,” he said. “What’d you wanna talk about?”

Jack sank into a chair. “Kent,” he said, “obviously.”

“I know this has been a lot,” Bitty said softly. “I, um.” He sighed, looking away from Jack’s face. “Well. You know, um. Kent told me he’d, uh -- he found his ex after, um. After an overdose. And he never said who it was or anything, but I know that he hasn’t exactly… been the same, since then?” He looked back to Jack, tilting his head slightly.

“You know it was me,” Jack said.

“That’s --”

“I didn’t know,” Jack said softly, “that he found me. Nobody told me.”

Bitty stepped closer to Jack. “Nobody told you?” he repeated, voice low.

Jack shook his head. His shoulders slumped and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Bitty sat next to Jack. The hospital chairs were cold and hard. He scooted it a little closer. “He doesn’t blame you,” he said, using the same gentle tone he used with Kent when he was upset.

“No,” said Jack, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sure he doesn’t.” He paused, cleared his throat, and then looked at Bitty. “Does he dream about it a lot? Did he tell you?”

Bitty bit his lower lip. “Kent…” he sighed. “Kent dreams about it sometimes,” he said. “We haven’t talked about it much, but I know it happens. But it seemed like it used to happen more than it does now. It’s probably just stress.”

Jack shook his head. “It’s not just that.”

It wasn’t. Bitty knew that just as well as Jack did, but he also knew that he couldn’t discuss it, not really. After a moment, Bitty slid a little closer and hugged Jack tightly. “Y’all need to talk,” he said. “Not right now, obviously. But -- sometime.”

Jack nodded. He leaned into Bitty’s embrace just a little.

In the hallway on the way back to Kent’s room, Jack stretched his hands up above his head while Bitty chattered idly about finals. The Samwell Hockey Banquet was the following day, and he wasn’t sure if they’d make it back in time or not. Bitty didn’t want to leave Kent so soon, but he didn’t want to miss the banquet, either. He caught himself in a yawn as they turned a corner.

“Lord! Look at me. I’m just gonna grab a cup of coffee before I go back,” Bitty said. “You go on. Tell him I’ll be right there, if he’s awake.”

“The cafeteria’s on the first floor,” Jack said.

The cafeteria wasn’t too hard to find, but it wasn’t open, either. Bitty went back upstairs and asked at the desk about a cup of coffee. Once he found the small kitchen he’d been directed to, he had to brew a pot of coffee himself. He leaned against the wall, waiting for the coffee to finish, and pulled out his phone. He had a text from Shitty regarding Kent’s condition, which he answered quickly. He felt stilted and awkward, trying to describe how he felt at the moment.

Bitty checked his email and scrolled through Twitter, taking a moment to just try and breathe. The wall was cool behind him. He lost himself in social media and cute animals pictures for a little while, avoiding anything having to do with hockey. Once he’d realized the coffee had finished, Bitty dumped a bunch of sugar and powdered nondairy creamer into a cup before pouring the liquid over it. He stirred it slowly, watching the liquid turn to a muddy, nondescript brown.

He let out a soft breath. Maybe Kent was right -- he felt so _tired_. He wasn’t even sure how much the coffee would keep him up. Maybe he’d nap with Kent after drinking it? The thought of curling up and falling asleep, tucked up with Kent -- even just for a little while -- was heavenly. After mashing a lid on the cup, Bitty grabbed it and headed back to Kent’s room.

Bitty stopped in the hallway just in front of Kent’s room’s door, wincing. He hadn’t gotten the lid on the coffee quite right and it had spilled onto his fingers. Taking it off, he blew on the liquid and scrubbed his hand on his jeans. The low murmur of Jack’s voice slipped out of the cracked hospital room door, but Bitty couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. Stepping closer, he placed his hand against it and gently pushed the door open.

Jack leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Kent’s forehead. “I’m sorry, Kenny,” he murmured as Kent slept on. “For everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the hockey gods bless piesnpucks and rhysiana for, like, existing. And making my writing better. Cheers.
> 
> And bless zimmboniandbitty for Keats. You'll probably see more of him later.
> 
> The nurse was making Kent do head injury and stroke related testing. As you can imagine, it's very annoying!


	18. read between the lines

Bitty cleared his throat. “Took me a while to find some coffee,” he said. Stepping into the room, he tugged the door closed behind him.

Jack pulled away from Kent immediately, as if Bitty had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. His cheeks were faintly red. “You found some, though?”

“Yeah.” Bitty sat gingerly on the edge of Kent’s bed, looking at his sleeping face. He brushed a bit of blond hair back from Kent’s forehead. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” said Jack.

Bitty glanced at him and Jack cleared his throat, looking away. Fine, huh? What had Jack said to Kent while Bitty was gone? Had Kent heard any of it?

Kent shifted in the bed. He looked so peaceful, sleeping like that. It was nearing seven, and Bitty could hear the bustle of people moving about in the hallway.

“Think he’ll be able to sleep for a while?”

“Yes,” said Jack, “if they let him.”

Bitty turned to look at Jack. He’d gone back to sit in the small chair near the window. The sunlight peeking through the blinds sank into his hair. He looked… tired. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just -- long night, right?” Jack smiled softly. “You, too. We both need sleep.”

Bitty looked back to Kent. “I can sleep right here,” he said. He gently readjusted the St. Michael medal around Kent’s neck. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

“I guess you can do your homework, then,” Jack said. “If you don’t want to sleep.” Leaning back in the small chair, he pulled a textbook out of his own bag, propping it open on his lap.

Bitty glowered at him for a minute. “Really? Homework?”

“Well --” Jack waved in Kent’s general direction. “He was worried about you missing school. And we’ve got finals soon.”

“Yeah…” Bitty sipped from his coffee cup. It tasted burnt, somehow, even through the sugar and creamer he’d dumped into it. “Eugh. Yeah. We’ve been doing calculus together. I guess I could complete my assignment.”

“You’ve been doing calculus _together_?”

“Yes.” Bitty glanced at Kent. “He’s really good at math, y’know.”

Jack didn’t say anything.

In the end, Bitty only got through about thirty minutes of homework because he fell asleep next to Kent, tucked into the hospital bed. They slept until the nurse came to wake Kent up and see how he was doing while Jack stepped out to update the guys via phone call -- the group chat was absolutely impossible to keep up with. The nurse informed Bitty and Kent that the doctor would be by relatively soon to decide if it would be all right for Kent to be discharged. The nausea and other symptoms hadn’t gotten worse, so she thought it might be all right. After she left, Kent dozed again, head resting on Bitty’s shoulder while Bitty read for one of his classes. Jack returned quietly, sitting back down to his reading without a word.

After about an hour, the door opened and Sara stepped in. “So,” she said briskly, “Jack. What size shoe do you wear?”

Jack blinked slowly at her. "Uh-- that's really not necessary--"  
"You going to walk out of here in your old ones? They already got tossed," Sara said, tapping away at her phone. "Size."  
"Seriously, that's--"  
" _Size_ ," Sara repeated, glancing up from her phone. Jack complied without another murmur.

Sara smiled brightly. “Okay. I’ll have Jeff bring some shoes and then he can take you boys to Kent’s house.”

To Kent’s house? No way. Bitty frowned. “I’m not leaving him,” he said.

“You need to sleep, Bittle,” said Jack.

“ _You_ need to sleep,” Bitty said.

“Honestly, you _both_ need to sleep,” Sara said, “and I have a feeling he’ll be released today, anyway, so --”

Kent stirred beside Bitty. “Go to my house,” he said, voice a bit hoarse.

Bitty looked down at him. The bloody red of his left eye was so unnerving. He looked _awful_ , even after waking up from a nap. “Sweetie,” he said, “I’m so sorry, did we wake you? It’s okay for you to sleep, the doctors told us so. I know you need it, you've been pushing yourself so hard lately. And you've got to rest up so you can play again soon. I'll be fine, don't worry about it.”

Kent sat up a little, wincing as he leaned on one elbow. He swallowed. “Eric. You were on a plane all night. You need to rest. Jack is right.”

“But --”

“I’m fine,” Kent said. “And I’m sure you need to do some stuff, so --”

“Baby.” Bitty pushed on Kent’s shoulder, trying to get him to lay back down. “You are not _fine_. You’re about to owe me money every time you say that.”

“I haven’t said it that much,” Kent said. He frowned and glanced at Jack. “Have I?”

Jack raised a brow. “You’ve said it a lot,” he said.

“It’s definitely come out a lot,” Sara confirmed.

“Whatever. You both need to sleep.” Kent looked around for a clock. “What time is it?”

“Nine-fifteen,” Sara said briskly. “Jeff’ll be here in about half an hour.”

“Good,” said Kent. He wound his fingers through Bitty’s, stroking his thumb over the skin on the back of Bitty’s hand. His grip tightened a little as he glanced around the hospital room.

Bitty sighed softly.

What should he do? He didn’t want to leave Kent alone in the hospital. He didn’t even want to leave him with a teammate or Sara -- not that she wasn’t great. It was just… looking at Kent’s face, feeling that faint tremble in his hands, Bitty knew that Kent wasn’t okay. He’d never mentioned problems with teammates, but Bitty wasn’t blind. He’d seen how things were going. When Kent let out an almost imperceptible sigh and tightened the muscles in his jaw as if steeling himself for their inevitable exit, Bitty made up his mind.

“I’m staying,” Bitty said firmly.

“No,” said Kent, “you’re tired.”

“It’s happening. Get used to it, baby.” Bitty sighed softly, brushing his fingers through Kent’s hair. “Lay down. Jack can go to your house and get things ready for us. All right?”

“That’s fine,” Sara said.

Kent swallowed. “I --” Catching sight of Bitty’s face, he sighed. “Okay. All right, Eric. Whatever you want.”

 _Whatever you want_. He always said that. Kent avoided asking very much of Bitty, always deferring to Bitty’s school schedule and time zone. He’d told Sara to call Bitty and tell him he was fine. He never wanted to bother Bitty, always checking to see if Bitty was too busy, always trying to avoid the words ‘I need’.

Bitty tilted his head. “I’m staying,” he said again. “Now, I love you, but you need to stop arguin’ with me.”

Jack smiled.

“I’m staying and you’re getting some sleep and that’s that,” Bitty continued. “Jack can go. I know you’re really just worried about your cat.”

“Fine,” said Kent, “fine. Jeez.” He glanced at Jack. “Do you mind checking on Kit?”

“Yeah,” said Jack, looking up from his book. “I’ll check on your cat. Don’t worry about it.”

Kent laid his head back down, letting out a soft sigh.

“You okay?”

“I’m f--” Kent glanced up at Bitty’s face. “Um. Yeah, no. My -- my head hurts. But it’s okay.”

Bitty slid an arm around Kent’s shoulders, tucking him close. “Can you take anything?”

“I don’t remember what the nurse told me,” Kent admitted.

“Let’s ask her.” Bitty pushed the call light.

“Okay,” Kent said, voice rough.

When she arrived, the nurse informed Kent that he could take Tylenol for his head but nothing else. When she asked if he wanted her to bring it, he nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

She smiled softly. “All right. I’ll be right back.” She returned a few minutes later.

Tylenol taken, Kent pressed against Bitty again, tucking his face into the pillow and closing his eyes. Bitty checked his Twitter, glancing down at Kent every so often. He’d finally relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders, when the door pushed open.

A tall, dark-haired man stepped in, holding a shopping bag and a backpack. Bitty recognized him immediately -- Jeff "Swoops" Troy. “Took me a minute to find some clothes to bring you, Parse, and then I had to go buy some fucking shoes?” He pulled the door to after Sara ducked out to answer her phone. “I just brought you whatever I could find. But it should be fine.”

“Hey,” Kent said, sitting up immediately. He didn’t pull away from Bitty.

Swoops turned, stepping up next to the bed. He paused, staring at Bitty for a minute. His gaze slid down, taking in the easy way Kent and Bitty curled together in the small bed. “Oh,” he said. “Eric.”

“That’s me,” Bitty said. He held out a hand.

Swoops shook it, but his face was entirely too placid. “Nice to meet you,” he said, voice cool. Glancing at Kent, Swoops’ face warmed as he smiled gently. “I’m glad you came, Eric.”

He reached out, turning Kent’s face to the side so he could see Kent’s eye. “Hell, Parse. You look like shit,” he said.

“I know.” Kent pulled away and rubbed at his face. “I feel like shit. It’s f--”

Jack coughed.

“Whatever,” Swoops said, cutting Kent off before he could say ‘fine’. “Here. Put some clothes on. At least a shirt, yeah?” He set the backpack on the bed, quickly pulling out a Van Halen t-shirt.

Kent stared at it. “I am not wearing that,” he said.

“Oh, you wanna go home bare-assed, eh? I had to come in through the back so that no one would try to fuckin' interview me. Think Sara'll like dealin' with the fallout of you walkin' out of here half-naked?”

“Fuck you!”

Swoops chuckled. “Feeling better already, I see. Look, fuck. Put it on. It was easier to grab my clothes. You can change when you go home.”

“Why didn’t you bring clothes that actually, y’know, belong to me?”

“Too much work.” Swoops turned away, opening the shopping bag. He crossed the room and handed a shoebox to Jack. “He puked on you, huh? Sick.” He paused as Jack opened the box and pulled out a pair of grey sneakers. “I was told not to buy you yellow shoes,” Swoops continued, “whatever that means. So I bought the most boring ones they had. And -- you _really_ look like your dad, you know that?”

“I’ve heard,” Jack said, bending to put the shoes on. “And yes, Kent puked on me.”

“He couldn’t help it,” Bitty said.

“Those things were awful,” Kent said. “At least I had good aim.”

Sara stepped back into the room. “Everyone all right?”

Kent, already out of the hospital gown entirely, pulled the Van Halen shirt on over his head. His St. Michael medal caught in the neck of the shirt for just a moment. “We’re just waiting on a doctor,” he said, tugging at it. “It might be a while.” He paused, then looked at Swoops again. “You brought pants, right?”

“Yeah.” Swoops tossed Kent a pair of jeans. Bitty slid over to give him a bit of room. “So -- I’m supposed to take these two to your place to rest, or something?” He shrugged. “I’m just followin’ orders. And --” Swoops paused, watching Kent as he tried to wiggle into the jeans without moving the sheets off his lap. “What are you _doing_?”

“I’m putting on pants!” Kent huffed.

“You know, you can just put those on like _normal_ , what’s the big deal --”

“Not in front of _Sara_!” Kent hissed, flushing a little.

“She doesn’t care!” Swoops said. He laughed.

“I’ll turn around,” Sara offered.

Kent let out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck you. Both.” He glanced at Jack. “All. Well --” He smiled at Bitty. “Not you. _Well_. Not --”

“Kent,” Swoops said. “C’mon, man.”

Kent sighed again. “Did you --”

“I checked on your cat after the game,” Swoops said. “She was fine.”

Kent paused in his below-the-sheets wriggling. “You saw my cat and you can’t even get clothes for me? You dick!”

“Yeah, ’cause you think clothes are more important than your cat. Is that what you’re saying? I’m gonna tell her you don’t love her any--”

“So you forgot,” Kent said.

“Yeah,” said Swoops, “I forgot. So sue me.”

Jack was already re-packing his bag. He’d put the shoes on without another word. Bitty, on the other hand, didn’t move from Kent’s bed at all. Swoops glanced at him again when Jack stood up.

“Ready?”

“I’ve got everything,” Jack said.

“I’m not going,” Bitty said.

“But --” Kent sat up again.

“I’m not havin’ this conversation again, baby,” Bitty said. He laid back against the pillow. “C’mon. We’re staying here. Those boys can -- oh!” He sat up. “Lemme get y’all a grocery list. Is that okay?”

Swoops glanced at Kent and sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got some time. It’s fine.”

“Text it to me,” Jack said. He stepped close to the bed. “I’ll see you later, okay, bud?”

Kent looked up at him, eyes wide. “Uh -- I guess?”

“Get some rest.” Jack brushed fingers through Kent’s hair. “You’re gonna be okay,” he said.

“Yeah,” Kent said, “whatever.” He cleared his throat. Bitty could feel him tremble, just a little. “Sorry about your shoes. Again.”

“They’re just shoes,” Jack said. He squeezed Bitty’s shoulder with one hand. “You guys go to sleep. I’ll come back after I take a nap, all right?”

“Yeah,” said Bitty.

“Need me to bring anything back?”

“I’ll text you,” Bitty said.

Once everyone else was gone, Bitty wound his fingers through Kent’s. “Baby,” he said softly. “What’s the matter?”

“Hm?” Kent tilted his head, looking up at Bitty. “Nothing. I’m just --” He sighed and then flopped back completely into the pillows. After a stretch of silence, he bit his lip. “I can’t play the rest of the season. And it’s _playoffs_.”

“I know,” Bitty said.

“I just -- the guys are gonna have to do _everything_ without me, Eric. And I’m the captain, for fuck's sake! They depend on me! It fucking -- it sucks,” Kent said. “And I’m stuck in here and I just, I really wanna go home.” He sucked in a quick breath. “I hate the hospital. And I’m -- look, it’s fine, I don’t wanna just sit here and whine to you when I’m… you know, I’ll be fine. So --”

Bitty kissed Kent quickly, pulling him close. It took a moment, but Kent relaxed into him, and when the kiss ended, he didn’t say anything.

“It’s okay,” Bitty said softly, “to be upset. And to tell me.”

“Yeah,” Kent said.

“I mean it.”

“I love you,” Kent said.

Bitty pushed the button on the side of the bed that shut off the overhead lights in the room. “I love you too, baby,” he said. “And you’re gonna owe me a dollar.”

"For what?" Kent protested. "You’re after my fortune before I’m even dead? Cold."  
"For sayin’ you’re fine,” Bitty said. “Hush.”

Kent was discharged at six in the evening. Swoops -- Jeff, whatever, Bitty wasn’t sure what to call him -- picked Bitty and Kent up from the hospital in a large white SUV. He made sure to put Kent in the back seat after instructing Bitty to keep an eye on him. Jack was already riding up front.

They were ten minutes away from the hospital when Kent lurched forward in his seat.

“You okay?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Kent said. His breathing was fast and shallow as he braced himself with one hand against the seat in front of him. “ _Fuck_.” He gritted his teeth.

“I’m gonna get you home,” Swoops said. “Hold on.”

Bitty was _really_ glad he couldn’t see the speedometer.

Kent’s house was… warm. Clean. Airy. The large windows let in the brilliant light of the sunset, painting it over bookshelves. The familiar sight of Kent’s sofa with its plethora of blankets brought a soft smile to Bitty’s face. As soon as Kent set foot in the house a large, fluffy cat appeared, meowing.

“Kit!” Kent sat on the floor, next to his hockey bag. The cat wound its way around him, purring loudly. “Hi, buddy. Didja miss me?”

Bitty went to check the kitchen to see if Jack had picked up everything he’d asked for.

Kent needed a home-cooked meal, that was certain. He _definitely_ needed pie. Bitty had given Jack a list of things he needed to make chicken and rice soup and buttermilk pie. He could feed all of them easily on both of those, even if he _was_ going to make the soup with store-bought stock. Quickly checking through the ingredients, Bitty frowned when he saw two boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese. He definitely hadn’t asked Jack for _that_.

When Bitty returned, Kent was still sitting in his entryway.

“I wanna take a shower,” Kent said, petting his cat but looking up at Bitty. “And then, I don’t know. Maybe we can eat something?”

“Sure, honey,” Bitty said. “I’ll help you.” He extended his hand and Kent took it, glancing at Jack.

“Uh -- make yourself at home,” Kent said. “I won’t be long.”

Jack smiled softly. “Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna do some homework.”

They made their way upstairs and into master bathroom. It was probably the nicest bathroom Bitty had ever been in, all gleaming tile and spa-like decor. As Bitty turned the shower on, Kent brushed his teeth, moving slowly. No doubt he felt like he was in a fog -- Bitty remembered how he felt after his own concussion, and it hadn’t been nearly so severe. Bitty pulled his own shirt off first, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes and stepping in. Kent liked his showers blisteringly hot, so Bitty quickly turned the hot water up once he’d acclimated to the temperature.

Kent joined him a moment later, stepping in gingerly. He had more bruises around his sides, one particularly long and purple. In fact, the more Bitty looked at him, the more he found.

He hated it.

Kent put a hand out, steadying himself against the wall. He just stood there, letting the water hit his skin. At Bitty’s request, he bent his head out of the water a little, closing his eyes. Bitty scrubbed gentle fingers through Kent’s hair, turning the shampoo into foam. The blood in his hair scrubbed out easily.

Kent’s other hand stayed on Bitty’s shoulder.

“Feel better?” Bitty asked softly.

“Mmm.” Kent sighed a little.

“You hungry?”

“Maybe,” Kent said.

“You’re too skinny,” Bitty said, brushing his thumb over Kent’s Olympic rings tattoo.

“I always lose weight in season,” Kent said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll put it back on. Always do.”

“Mmhmm. Okay, baby. C’mon, let’s rinse your hair.” Bitty waited for Kent to tilt his head back into the stream of water. When he didn’t move, Bitty placed two fingers under Kent’s chin and tilted his head back for him.

The suds rinsed out easily. Bitty ran gentle hands over Kent’s skin, just trying to focus on getting him clean. His soap smelled like his cologne, crisp and expensive, the suds fluffy and soft.

Once their shower was over and they were both dressed, Bitty and Kent went out to Kent’s bedroom. Sinking down onto his mattress, Kent let out a quiet sigh and closed his eyes. Once he’d laid down, Bitty tucked the sheets up around him. “Here, now -- I’ll just be a minute, I’m gonna start some dinner, okay?” He kissed Kent softly, leaning close.

“You’re gonna cook for me?” Kent grinned when they parted. “Are you gonna make me a pie, too, sunshine?”

“’Course I am,” Bitty said. He combed his fingers through Kent’s damp hair before stepping away. Kent caught at his wrist, grip soft.

Bitty turned back instantly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m -- feels like I’m moving through mud, but it’s fine. I just --” Kent swallowed. “Thank you, Eric,” he said. “I -- having you here. I didn’t expect it. And I’m --”

Bitty bent, pressing a very gentle kiss to Kent’s lips. “I love you,” he said. “It’s nothing. Get some rest, okay? I’ll bring dinner up to you after a while.”

“Can you --” Kent paused. “Will you stay? Just for a minute.”

Only after Kent was asleep did Bitty go back downstairs. He stopped to pet Kit, burying his fingers in the cat’s soft golden fur. Kit bumped her perfect head up under Bitty’s hand, and the force of her purr tingled along Bitty’s fingers. “Go on upstairs,” Bitty muttered, “sleep with your dad. He missed you.” Kit let out a soft chirping noise before padding away from Bitty.

Bitty shook his head. The heat from the shower was making him sluggish. Dinner and sleep sounded… well, too perfect. He needed to get cooking so they could all eat and rest. The soup would take a bit of time -- and while the nap wouldn’t hurt Kent, he needed to eat.

Jack was reading at the table, head resting in one hand.

“You wanna help me with dinner?” Bitty asked.

“Sure.” Jack closed his textbook, standing easily.

“I’m making soup,” Bitty said.

Jack raised a brow but didn’t say anything.

In the kitchen, Bitty hummed softly while they cut vegetables. Even Jack could manage a rough chop on everything, after a little instruction. “So,” he said, after a moment passed, “Jack. I saw you kiss my boyfriend this morning.”

Jack’s knife hit the cutting board louder than necessary. “Bittle.”

“It’s fine,” Bitty said. “I mean -- there’s a lot of history between the two of y’all. I know that.” He glanced at Jack. “But I don’t think Kent remembers you doin’ that, and… I just, there’s something I want to know. Between you and me.”

Jack didn’t say anything, and Bitty took a breath.

“D’you love him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, my beta readers:  
> piesnpucks  
> rhysiana  
> editingatwork
> 
> are amazing. Bless y'all. I appreciate you so much for taking the time out of your busy lives to edit my trash. The drafts are much better after you.


	19. boy, you remind me

Jack stared at Bitty for a moment, hands completely still. “I --” he cleared his throat. “I don’t know,” he said.

“You don’t know,” Bitty repeated. “You came all the way out here on an _I don’t know_?”

“Look, Kent and I basically only hooked up a few times in Juniors,” Jack said.

“Yeah, no,” said Bitty, thinking of how long it had taken Kent to be physical with him, of how hurt he’d been when he thought it hadn’t meant anything to Bitty, and of how he’d withdrawn after… everything. He referred to Jack as his ex-boyfriend. “That doesn’t sound right.”

Jack sighed. “Look, we never defined things. At least, not that I knew of. And it’s… everything is complicated between us,” he said. “It has been for a long time. The draft changed everything.”

Scraping onion into a large stock pot, Bitty sighed. The draft wasn’t the only thing that changed everything. “I know. I just --”

“Does it matter?”

Bitty turned to face Jack. _Did_ it matter? “To me? Not really,” he said, after a long moment. Kent loved Bitty. He didn’t have a single doubt of that, and even if Kent were faced with Jack again, Bitty knew that Kent would choose him. Regardless, Kent lacked closure when it came to Jack, and Jack’s presence in Vegas was nothing but confusing for him. He had enough on his plate without that. “I just want you both to be happy. I know it’d mean a lot to him if y’all started talking again.”

Jack started chopping celery, a welcome break from the stretch of silence that had enveloped the bright kitchen. "I had my reasons for coming here," he said quietly.

“I’m sure that’s true,” Bitty said. “But you didn’t have to bring me.”

“Yes, I did,” Jack said. He kept his eyes trained on the celery, chopping neatly. After a pause, he sighed. “I didn’t know Kent thought I _hated_ him.”

Bitty bit his lip. Taking the celery from Jack, he added it to the stock pot and stirred. “It’s not my place to say anything, and I know that y’all -- well -- Kent’s really good at hitting where it hurts, and you’re, y’know. Pretty good at being… well…” He flushed, remembering how Jack had treated him his freshman year. “Harsh. When you want to be. But I think y’all need to talk. About everything.”

Jack glanced at Bitty. “You’re not wrong,” he said.

Bitty smiled softly. “I know.”

It was silent for a few minutes before Jack switched on the slim radio in Kent’s kitchen. They finished preparing the ingredients for the soup while listening to the top 40 radio station Kent had it set on. While it simmered, Bitty tidied Kent’s living room -- there was a book left on a side table, propped open with the pages down. Picking it up, Bitty shut it and set it carefully back on the side table. That done, Bitty took an empty mug to the kitchen where Jack was washing the dishes they’d used while cooking the soup. Once he’d finished loading the dishwasher, Jack turned the radio back off and went back to his homework at the table.

Left to his own devices, Bitty returned to the living room and flipped the TV on before starting to organize the pile of papers on Kent's coffee table. He tried not to look too closely at the things he held, but he could make out investment paperwork and a mortgage on a house in New York beneath a sheaf of handwritten guitar tabs. All of it was covered in cat hair. Sitting down on the sofa, Bitty gently ran his fingers over the honey-colored body of Kent’s guitar without moving it from its place near the sofa. Curling up, he leaned his head on his hand as he watched TV and toyed with his phone.

Once the soup was ready, Bitty climbed the stairs again. When he pushed Kent’s door all the way open and stepped in, Bitty had to smile at the sight of Kent sprawled out in bed. Kit was curled up in the middle of his bare chest, tail tucked over her nose. As Bitty approached, she abandoned the bed, scampering for the door.

Bitty leaned down and pressed a kiss to Kent’s cheek. “Baby. C’mon, I made food for you. You can sleep more after we eat, all right?”

Kent scrunched his nose and let out a soft noise. He stretched a little, rolling to face Bitty. “-- ’m tired, can’t I eat later?” He slung an arm over Bitty’s shoulders. “You come to bed.”

“Nope,” Bitty said, attempting to straighten up and pull Kent with him. “Now. C’mon.”

Sitting up, Kent stretched a little as the sheets slid down to puddle in his lap. He reached for his glasses, quickly sliding them onto his face. Bitty tossed a shirt at him, which he pulled on without looking. “Hey -- this is tight, is this mine?” Kent looked down at the _Samwell Hockey_ lettering across his chest. “Ah. Not mine. Okay.” He grinned up at Bitty.

“Mine,” Bitty said.

“Dirty?” Kent asked, voice hopeful.

Bitty laughed. “Not now. C’mon. I really do have dinner on your table, sweetie.”

Kent got out of bed and followed Bitty downstairs, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. He gave Jack a wan smile and sat down quickly. “You guys didn’t have to do this,” he said. Bitty set a bowl of soup in front of him and Kent looked down at it without moving.

Once Bitty sat down, he nudged Kent with his elbow. “Hey,” he said. “Baby. You need to eat that. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Kent said, “okay.” He took a bite. His eyes widened and he looked at Bitty.

Bitty laughed. “Jack helped,” he admitted.

“It’s really good,” Kent said. “Thank you.” Glancing at Jack, he swallowed. “Uh, both of you.”

“It’s not a problem.” Jack watched Kent eat for a moment, his gaze lingering on the Samwell lettering across Kent’s chest. A muscle jerked in his jaw before he looked away, focusing on his dinner.

They all ate in silence, spoons scraping bowls while Kit curled around each of their ankles in turn. Kent kept looking at Jack as if waiting for something, the muscles in his shoulders tight. When they’d all finished, Jack took the dishes, ignoring Kent’s protests. Bitty set pie in front of him and Kent stared at it for a moment, smiling.

“You made pie for me,” he said.

“Well, yeah. I told you I would.” Bitty smiled.

Kent took a bite and chewed slowly. Bitty fidgeted in his chair as Kent swallowed. Did he like it? Not like it?

Kent fingers curled around Bitty’s. Once Bitty looked at him directly, he leaned forward, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss. “Thank you,” he said, voice quiet. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Bitty said.

Jack cleared his throat and Kent laughed a little. “Sit down,” he said, turning in his chair.

Once they’d all enjoyed their pie, Kent took his plate to the kitchen and set it in the sink before heading out to the living room. “Now what?” he asked. “That it? Now we just… hang out?”

Bitty followed Kent. “You can go back to bed,” he suggested. “It’s been a long day.”

“I don’t want to go to bed, I’ve been in bed for a _million years_ —“ Still moving slowly, Kent sat on his sofa. “I’m f-- _okay_ , seriously.”

“A million years? What are you, twelve? We just left the hospital! _And_ you have a severe concussion! And you —” Kent was picking up the remote control. Bitty grabbed for it. “Kent Valeray Parson! You know you can’t watch TV!”

“But I’m _bored_ and —"

“Jack! Tell him!”

Kent gasped. “Un _fair_!” he said.

“You really can’t watch television,” Jack said from the kitchen. “They said you needed to wait a week at the hospital.”

“Unfair _twice_!” Kent said. He leaned back against the sofa, sighing deeply. “What am I gonna do? You conspire against me, and I’m --”

“Dramatic,” Jack said, coming around the corner, “you’re dramatic.”

“You’ll have to find other things to do for a while,” Bitty said. He sat next to Kent, picking up the book from the side table. “You want me to read this? What is this, anyway?” Turning it over, he looked at the title: _The Elegant Universe_ , by Brian Greene. “Pretty different from Harry Potter.”

“I am a man of many depths,” Kent said. “Plus, sometimes I need to read so I get sleepy.”

Jack laughed.

“Can I at least _listen_ to the TV?” Kent asked.

Bitty laughed. “Yeah, okay. C’mere. But --” he held up a finger. “No sports highlights. Nothing stressful. We’re watching _Cupcake Wars_.”

Despite the fact that he’d protested that he wasn’t tired, it didn’t take long for Kent to lay back down, head in Bitty’s lap. He tucked the fingers of one hand up under Bitty’s thigh, relaxing into the cushions of the sofa easily. Closing his eyes, he sighed as Bitty threaded gentle fingers through his hair. In the end, Kent fell asleep quickly, only half-listening to the television show.

Bitty got up to use the bathroom. He paused to splash water on his face -- he was tired, and it was getting a bit overwhelming. Perhaps he ought to head to bed? Kent hadn’t wanted to go to bed earlier, but he’d fallen asleep. Resolving to tough it out just a bit longer, Bitty returned to the living room.

Jack was draping a blanket over Kent, tucking it close about his shoulders. His fingers lingered on Kent’s thigh for just a moment before he straightened and moved away, returning to the chair he’d been sitting in before. Looking up, he caught sight of Bitty. “You look tired,” he said.

“I am,” Bitty admitted. “It’s been a long day.” His rest at the hospital was fitful at best.

“You should go to bed,” Jack said. “He’s all right like this, for now. I can bring him up later.”

The offer was tempting, but… leaving Kent to sleep on the sofa by himself didn’t sit well with Bitty. He eased back onto the cushions, avoiding jostling Kent too much. “Thanks, but I’ll be all right. I can wait till he’s ready to go up.”

“You want me to take him up there now?” Jack asked.

“I can wait,” Bitty insisted.

Jack glanced away and shifted in his chair. “All right,” he said.

After he woke about an hour later and requested water, Kent was willing to concede that he probably ought to go to bed. Kent and Bitty went back upstairs to bed, curling up skin to skin in the cool grey sheets. Bitty had seen Kent’s bedroom on video hundreds of times, and sharing it with him felt like coming home. They’d slept together in hotels before, but not like this. This was just that -- _sleeping together_. Bitty wound his arms around Kent, pressed soft kisses to the back of his neck. It would be easy to fall asleep listening to the slow rhythm of Kent’s breathing, the purr of the cat on his pillow.

He didn’t have many opportunities to hold Kent like that. Bitty stroked soft fingers over freckles, connecting dots. He pressed his cheek to Kent’s back, breathing in the faint scent of his soap, his skin, his sheets. Tucked against Kent’s back, the dull beat of his heart lulled Bitty to sleep, steady and calm.

When he woke, the house was dark. Sitting up, Bitty realized that the other side of the bed was empty. He slid out of the covers, leaving Señor Bun tucked in as he went downstairs, blinking in the dark. Soft light beckoned from the kitchen. As he drew closer, Bitty could hear the low murmur of voices.

“Uh -- I’m graduating soon,” Jack said. “School’s been going well.”

“I’m happy for you,” Kent said. His voice was rough and soft.

“Yeah, um. Things have been, y’know. Good,” Jack said. “For me.”

“I know. It’s obvious.” Bitty heard the sound of liquid pouring into a glass and then nothing.

More liquid splashed into the sink. Bitty heard a muttered curse and a quiet clang of metal on metal before recognizing the wet squish of drained pasta returning to the pot. After a long stretch of nothing, a soft sigh filled the silence. “Kent. How have you been?”

Kent cleared his throat. “Uh -- fine,” he said. “Why? I’m sure I told you lots of times. You just --”

“I missed you too,” Jack said, cutting Kent off. “Even though I didn’t tell you. And you don’t really seem fine.”

“It’s okay.” Kent laughed. “You don’t have to say that. I’m -- I was a dick to you. You had every right to shut me out. I know that I -- anyway, I’m sorry, I really am. For everything.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, Jack.”

Bitty decided he’d heard enough. He coughed before walking into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Why are you up?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Kent said. He lifted a bowl. “But Jack made mac and cheese. D’you want some?”

Bitty glanced from the orange-colored noodles to Jack. “From a box?”

“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “That’s what he likes.” He shrugged.

“It’s my favorite,” Kent said. “Don’t say anything about homemade mac and cheese. I don’t want it.” He took a bite and grinned, and his bloody eye made it bit more ghoulish than necessary.

“Please forgive the Kraft transgression,” Jack said.

Bitty laughed. At Jack’s suggestion, they moved from the kitchen to the table again. Bitty declined to eat any of the mac and cheese, so Kent and Jack split it between them -- Kent getting the lion’s share, of course.

As he watched them eat, Bitty shook his head. “I can’t believe you prefer _that_ to homemade mac and cheese. I’m never cooking for you again,” he said.

“Babe!” Kent widened his eyes, staring in mock dismay. “How could you say that?” He took another bite.

“I can cook for myself,” said Jack.

“Yeah? Let’s see your best pie, then. Go on,” Bitty said.

Kent leaned his chin in his hand, watching Jack. “Yeah, let’s see your best pie,” he said. “I need entertainment, anyway.”

“We’ll be murdered if you refuse to make pie when we get back,” Jack said.

“ _You’ll_ be murdered,” Bitty said, “you instigator.” He paused. “Wait, when are we going back?”

Kent looked up from his bowl. “You have exams soon,” he said. “And your banquet is tomorrow.”

Jack glanced at Kent. “That’s right. I scheduled our flight back for tomorrow morning so we’d make it back in time.”

Kent looked back down at his food.

“Tomorrow morning?” Bitty asked. But that was so soon! Bitty had hardly seen Kent at all. How could he possibly leave him at a time like this? He hadn’t even been home a full 24 hours, and if they left in the morning, Kent would be home alone. The rest of the Aces likely had to head to Chicago for their next match. Bitty couldn’t just _leave_. “That’s --”

“Good,” Kent said, still looking down. “You need to study. And Jack’s got graduation and everything.”

“I can change the flight if you want,” Jack said.

“Don’t. You both have a lot to do.” Kent gave Bitty’s thigh a gentle squeeze. “You have finals and your team banquet and I know for a fact that you have a paper to finish. I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t just leave, baby,” Bitty said. “You’ve barely been home. I mean -- you’re gonna be tired for a while and you’ll probably do something stupid like watch a bunch of TV when you’re not supposed to and --”

“I would never,” Kent said.

“But --”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” Kent said. He stood and carried his bowl to the kitchen. “What time’s the flight?”

“It’s at ten,” Jack said.

Kent returned to the table. “Is that enough time for you guys to get to your thing?”

“Should be fine.” Jack shrugged. “It’s in the evening.”

Bitty frowned. Turning in his chair, he looked up at Kent. That bloody eye was terribly unnerving. The nurse had told them it would only last about two weeks, give or take, but Bitty’s stomach still hurt when he looked at it. “But if I leave, who’s going to look after you?”

“I’ll be okay,” Kent said, “I’m a grown-ass man.”

“You just ate Kraft mac and cheese,” Jack said. “I think you could leave the ‘grown-ass’ part out.”

“Yes, see? Thank you,” Bitty said.

“As an adult, I can eat whatever I want.” Kent crossed his arms over his chest, straining Bitty’s shirt a little. “And _you_ have finals. And graduation. So you can’t stay -- not that I don’t want you to, but --”

“You need help,” Bitty said, voice soft.

“I’m sure I can get someone to come by and check on me if you want,” Kent said. He bent down and kissed Bitty’s forehead. “C’mon, Eric. You need to sleep and my head hurts, I’m tired of talking about this.”

Sighing, Bitty followed Kent back upstairs.

Stopping in the bathroom, Kent brushed his teeth and took some more Tylenol. They both curled up in bed again, Kent winding his arms around Bitty and pulling him close. “I hate that you have to go, you know that, right?”

“Oh, honey, of course I do.” Bitty twisted in Kent’s embrace until they were facing each other. Hooking one leg around Kent’s, he slid closer. “I know you’re not telling me to leave ’cause you want me to go. I’m just worried about you. I know you haven’t seen the accident yourself yet, but it was --” His stomach twisted. “I was so scared, Kent, and I couldn’t think about anything else until I saw you. Lord. If Jack hadn’t’ve already been on the phone getting plane tickets, I probably would’ve thrown myself at his feet to beg.”

Kent kissed him, lips gentle. He was solid and warm under Bitty’s hands. “I’m all right,” he said. “Swear to god, Eric. I love that you were worried about me, but everything’s okay. I’ll have someone check on me. I won’t do anything stupid. I don’t want to be a distraction for you.”

Bitty laughed. “A distraction? If you weren’t on doctor’s orders against strenuous activity, I’d let you distract me a lot more than this.” He silenced Kent’s laugh with another kiss. “Good night, Mr. Parson,” he said.

“Mmm. Good night, Mr. Bittle,” Kent said. “I’m so glad to hear that Netherfield has been let at last.”

He rolled over to avoid Bitty’s playful punch to the shoulder.

In the morning, Bitty and Kent cooked breakfast while Jack was out running. It was easy, sharing a kitchen with Kent -- he was tidy and precise, cleaning up after himself immediately in a way Bitty had never quite mastered. He could flip a pancake in a pan like people did in movies, and Bitty found himself laughing and feeling lighter by the time Jack returned.

Breakfast was calm and sweet. Kent hooked his ankle around Bitty’s under the table and smiled at him easily, eyes a soft ocean blue behind his glasses. Jack complimented their cooking and Kent asked how his run went and they seemed… comfortable with each other in a way that hadn’t been present before. Bitty caught Jack smiling at him -- or Kent -- more than once, but every time he smiled back Jack glanced away.

Packing didn’t take long. Bitty hadn’t brought much to Vegas, and it was hardly a feat to throw it back into his bag. Picking up Señor Bun from where he lay beneath covers on the bed, Bitty hesitated. Kent wouldn’t be able to participate in long video calls for… well, a while. Bitty fully expected him to go to the rest of the Aces’ games, even if he couldn’t play himself -- he was the Aces’ Captain, after all -- and traveling would take a lot out of him so soon after the injury. It was going to be hard.

He stuffed Señor Bun back under the covers, rumpling them back up to hide him just a little. It would give Kent a physical reminder of him, and Bitty knew that Kent… really needed something to hold on to. He could avoid arguing about it by just pretending he forgot him, right?

Just as he’d finished hiding Bun and getting all his homework into his bag, Kent pushed the bedroom door open.

“Got everything?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “I have everything. I think the car will be here in a minute.”

“Will you let me know you got in okay?” Kent asked.

Looking up from his bag, Bitty smiled. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll call you.”

“We can’t use Skype?” Kent handed Bitty his Samwell shirt.

“No, baby, keep that --” Bitty pushed it away. “Listen, my concussion wasn’t as bad as yours, but I think you shouldn’t use the TV or computer at all for… a week?”

Kent frowned.

“It’ll make your recovery time so much longer, sweetheart. Besides, we can just talk on the phone. We used to do that all the time, huh?”

“I know.” Kent ran a hand through his hair. He swallowed and then looked away, scrubbing one hand across his eyes. “I just -- all right. Yeah, okay. Phone it is.”

“And I’ll read to you for a while,” Bitty said.

“Yeah,” said Kent, again, “okay.”

Picking up his bag, Bitty headed downstairs. He just needed to make sure he hadn't left anything important.

Kent barrelled down the stairs moments later. “Eric! You forgot--” Reaching the front door, he thrust Señor Bun at Bitty. “He was in the bed.”

“Oh,” Bitty said, looking down at the stuffed animal. He bit his lower lip for a moment before pushing Señor Bun into Kent’s hands. “No. Here. He’ll keep you company.”

“Oh, Eric,” Kent said softly, “I can’t -- I can’t keep _Señor Bun_.” But his hands were already closed around the toy’s soft fur, and Bitty could see that he was trying desperately not to start crying again.

“You can give him back to me in July, baby,” Bitty said, “when you come for your birthday. Okay?” He leaned forward, kissing Kent very gently, mindful that Jack was waiting in the car. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Okay,” Kent said, his hand curving gently around the back of Bitty’s neck. “Okay.”

  
Jack was silent on their way to the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, piesnpucks and rhysiana for your edits, as always.
> 
> And yeah, no, I bet y'all thought you'd figured out who's gonna end up together by now, huh?  
> Sorry, but I still don't know!!!!!!!!!! GOOD GOD MAN


	20. you deserve to love someone who’s gonna love you back

Bitty switched his phone back on as soon as the plane landed in Boston. He had a bunch of text messages, six Twitter notifications, and one Snapchat. He opened the snap first, smiling softly. It was Kent, curled up in bed with Señor Bun. He was shirtless and he’d turned his face just _so_ to hide his bloody eye, and he still looked tired, but he was beautiful all the same. Across the bottom of the picture he’d written _I miss you already_.

Smiling softly, Bitty sent a quick snap back, writing _I miss you, too_ along the top. He checked Twitter, frowning when he saw activity on Kent’s account. He was supposed to be resting!

A few moments later, his phone flashed another notification: _SweetiePie90 took a screenshot!_ Shaking his head, Bitty pressed the button to call Kent rather than text him. Kent wasn’t supposed to be looking at screens that much! Screen time strained the eyes and could make headaches much worse. Bitty _knew_ he knew that.

Kent picked up after one ring. “Hey, you.” His voice was soft.

“Hey, baby,” Bitty said. “How’re you feeling?”

“The same,” Kent said. “Just kinda tired, you know? Slow.”

“You’ll probably feel that way for a few days.” Bitty adjusted his bag on his shoulder and followed Jack out of the terminal.”You know what would help?”

“Mm?”

“Not looking at your _phone_ so much!” Bitty sighed. “I know you’re probably bored, but it really is bad for you.”

“I really didn’t use it that much,” Kent said. “I just sent you the one picture, damn. Pot. Kettle. _I’m_ in bed with the lights off.”

“But I saw your Twitter!” Bitty protested, cheeks burning.

“Sara’s running it for me for a little while,” Kent said. “’Cause I can’t do it and she thought people would want to know how I’m doing. I didn’t touch it.” He paused. “Why? What does it say?”

“It just says you’re appreciative of well wishes and that you know the Aces will still play great while you’re off.” Bitty leaned on a wall while Jack figured out the fastest way to get them back to school. “Nothing too personal. Very professional. That’s how you like it, right?”

“Yeah,” Kent said. He sighed.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay,” Bitty said. “I --”

“Oh, Eric,” Kent said. “Don’t apologize. I didn’t expect you to come at all. It was great of you, and I just -- it really, um. It meant a lot to me. And I probably didn’t tell you, did I?”

“I knew,” Bitty said. Jack was motioning to him. “Baby, I gotta go. I still have to get back to school. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Eric,” Kent said. “Really. Get going. I, um.” He swallowed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Bitty said. “Can I call you later?”

Kent laughed softly. “Yeah, sunshine. I’m not gonna be busy.”

Bitty and Jack got back to the Haus with enough time to shower, dress, and head straight to the team banquet. Jack sat next to Shitty, who gave Bitty a single worried glance before conversations enveloped them both. It was good to be home again, but Kent’s well-being stayed on the edge of Bitty’s thoughts through the co-captaincy announcement for Ransom and Holster and the rest of the awards at the dinner. He could tell by the way Shitty kept looking over at him that he’d have some explaining to do -- Jack, too -- but after trying to explain why he hadn’t baked a pie to everyone at the banquet without also revealing that Kent Parson was his _boyfriend_ , Bitty hardly had the energy. He escaped to his room, dodging more conversations by claiming exhaustion.

Once he’d gotten ready for bed, Bitty called Kent and settled back into his pillows, lights already off. The phone rang three times before Kent picked up. His voice was rough with sleep. “Mmm?”

“Hi, baby,” Bitty said. “I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“It’s no big deal,” Kent said. He yawned. “How was your thing?”

“The banquet? It was great! Ransom and Holster are gonna be co-captains, I think we all kinda think of them as a team anyway, and…” Bitty rattled on about who’d won what award and what finals he had coming up for a little while before realizing he hadn’t asked how Kent was doing without him. “A-anyway, sweetheart, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Kent said.

“I’m keeping score,” Bitty said, “so I know how much money you owe me when you visit, sweetie.”

“Oh,” said Kent, “is that a real thing? I mean -- you really want me to come to Georgia?”

Bitty flushed, even though he knew Kent couldn’t see. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll -- I’ll think of some way to explain it.” It would probably be pretty easy, even though he’d likely have to use Jack’s name to do it. It was likely that his mother, at least, would know who Kent Parson was. He could say he’d met him through Jack. It wasn’t that much of a stretch, right?

“But --” Kent paused. “Eric, what if, um. What if your parents don’t like me?”

“What?” Bitty laughed and rolled over onto his side. “Baby. They’ll like you. I promise.”

“Okay,” Kent said. “If you say so. I just didn’t know if you were serious, because I’m, y’know.” Out. They’d discussed it enough for Bitty to take Kent’s meaning. It made them both nervous, and Kent often worried about outing Bitty by association. “But yeah. Yeah, I’ll come. I’ll buy a ticket whenever I can use the computer again.” He paused. “Oh, yeah. I’m supposed to tell you that Troy’s wife is gonna come over to check on me. Sara asked her to come.”

Bitty let out a soft sigh of relief. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s great.” Christopher Troy was one of the oldest players on the Aces team and Kent had lived with him and his wife for a while as a rookie. Bitty could trust Kent in Mrs. Troy’s hands, he knew that. They'd always been good to him.

“Yeah.” Kent was quiet for a little while, just the sound of his breathing filtering through the line.

“What is it?” Bitty asked. “You lonely?”

Kent swallowed. “Um,” he said, “kind of. Not exactly. It was just... really nice having you here. And now I just...”

“I miss you, too,” Bitty said. That wasn’t the only thing bothering Kent, though, and they both knew it. “And I’m sorry you can’t play for the rest of the season.”

“How did you -- never mind, I --” Kent let out a frustrated noise. “Whatever. I’ll get over it. You know? It fucking sucks. But I’ll, y’know, go to as many of the games as I can, once they say I can travel.”

“Right,” Bitty said. He wouldn’t have expected any less from Kent.

New videos began appearing on Kent’s channel -- the latest was R.E.M.’s _Losing My Religion_ , and it was… an odd choice for him, because he almost always did current pop songs, but something about it reminded Bitty of being in the hospital. The video was a simple recording on the sofa, nothing fancy, but Kent was finally singing in his videos again. Bitty watched it three times.

Kent sent him one Snapchat per day. Señor Bun at the breakfast table with Kent under a “Kent said I had to tell you I took this” caption. Señor Bun under Kent’s arm in the Aces locker room. Señor Bun sitting on Kent’s guitar. Kent took pictures -- or had pictures taken -- of the stuffed bunny hanging out in his locker, in his garden, at a cafe, at the doctor’s office. He took a picture of him outside the parish where he went to mass. Bitty saved them all, creating a little album in his phone just for the photos that seemed, somehow, to be a manifestation of Kent allowing Bitty into his life.

The Aces continued their playoff run with the older Troy taking Kent’s place as alternate captain. For the first game in Chicago, the Aces players all came out with new patches on the shoulders of their uniforms -- a rainbow ace of spades crossed with a banner reading ‘fight’. They crushed Chicago in the first match but lost the second. When they returned to Vegas, the team had had the center logo in the ice repainted in rainbow as well. Kent was nowhere and everywhere all at once, constantly referenced in articles, team interviews, and commentary.

The battle for the Stanley Cup was more important than ever, more personal. An intense discussion over which team would take the cup started at breakfast and had continued raging through dinner. Jack and Bitty were rooting for Vegas, of course, and Shitty had declared himself for Vegas on principle. Ransom and Holster were still engaged in a debate with Dex and Nursey over whether or not Vegas _could_ take the cup without Parson. Nursey thought no. Holster thought yes. Chowder sided with Jack and Bitty because “the Aces deserve to win after what happened.” That night, Bitty watched the game with the rest of the guys, all of them crowded around the television at the Haus.

Kent had agreed to an interview at that next game back in Vegas, his first since the injury. He’d attended wearing a game day suit, eye still somewhat bloody behind his glasses, the bruise around it a sickly, fading green. He answered questions about his physical condition easily, confirming rumors that he’d gone back to the hospital once with recurrent symptoms and that he would not be able to play the rest of the season, but remaining confident about his recovery overall. When asked about the hit in particular and his thoughts on the punishment, the corner of Kent’s mouth curved in a smile. “Wolves don’t lose sleep over the affairs of sheep,” he said, voice steady. “I have nothing to say about Mr. Kane.”

Lardo let out a low whistle. “Clever,” she said.

“Damn,” said Holster.

Bitty grinned and glanced to the side only to find Jack already looking his way. Jack smiled.

The Aces won again that night.

Finals loomed on the horizon, and with them came an increase in schoolwork and the heavy knowledge that Jack and Shitty would be gone soon. Coming home from class, Bitty pressed play on the video of Mariah Carey’s _Always Be My Baby_ , more than ready to relax and listen to Kent sing for just a moment. The video was just Kent, sitting in his living room in a tank top and shorts, camera catching him from the shoulders down. The curve of his bicep on top of the guitar almost distracted Bitty entirely from the fact that Señor Bun was next to Kent on the sofa, hiding _almost_ out of sight behind the guitar.

Almost. He smiled, leaning his chin in his hand.

Bitty had a busy birthday. He spoke to his mama first thing in the morning and the guys kept him out of the Haus all day before surprising him with a new oven. It was so _much_ and so _nice_ and Bitty couldn’t really contain himself, ending up crying into Jack’s shirt in gratitude. With all that excitement it took a while for Bitty to realize he had another package waiting for him, tucked out of the way on the kitchen counter. After getting a pie into the new oven, Bitty carried it up to his room, narrowly avoiding having to open it in front of the rest of the hockey team.

Opening his laptop, Bitty sat down at his desk. The package sat on the bed behind him -- he wanted to open it on Skype with Kent. He’d left Kent’s YouTube page open the night before, and it loaded as soon as the computer came out of sleep mode. A new Happy Birthday video had been posted. It was the first one on the channel not posted on August third.

He sang it in French. Kent had obviously covered it as soon as he’d gotten up. Soft, early morning sunshine pouring in windows and the steaming mug next to him on the table gave the video a soft, sweet atmosphere. Bitty could almost smell the coffee, feel the sunshine. Watching it was like waking up with Kent in the morning. Bitty Skyped him as soon as the video ended.

When the video connected, Kent was in bed, Señor Bun in his lap. His playoff beard was coming along pretty well. “Hey, you,” he said. “Happy birthday.”

“Baby,” Bitty said. “I saw the song. It’s beautiful! Thank you.”

“Did your present come?” Kent stretched.

“It’s right here!” Bitty turned around to get the box off his bed. “I wanted to open it with you!”

Ripping into the box, he pulled out -- a bag of flour? Laughing, Bitty turned it over in his hand. “Flour?” Looking back into the box, he saw more small bags of flour, each a different type. “Kent Valeray Parson. Did you --”

“I got you flours,” Kent said, running a hand over his beard.

Flours. As opposed to flowers. “Of course you did,” Bitty said. “And I assume the email I got this morning about an Instacart account is from you, too, then?”

Kent coughed. “Yeah,” he said. “I told it to send you that Irish butter you like every couple of weeks. That way, you know. You don’t have to go on late-night butter runs.”

God. Bitty could just kiss him. “I --”

“Keep looking in the box,” Kent said.

A glass mason jar, nestled in the bottom under all the flours, was full of folded up pieces of paper. “What’s this?” he asked, picking it up. “What are these?”

“Um,” said Kent. He looked down at Señor Bun, fiddling with one of his ears.

Bitty unscrewed the lid and pulled out the first scrap of paper. Unfolding it, he read off Kent’s neat handwriting: _your smile_ . He frowned. Opening the next one, he read _kindness_. Looking up at the camera, Bitty tilted his head. “I don’t --”

“It’s things I love about you,” Kent said, still looking down. “In case you forget, y’know. Since I can’t, um. Since I can’t be there to tell you how amazing you are all the time.”

Bitty’s throat felt tight. “Honey,” he said softly, looking back down at the jar. How many pieces of paper were in there? How long had that taken?

“Some of them are probably stupid, but at least maybe you’ll laugh,” Kent said. He glanced up from Señor Bun, smiling a little.

“I love it,” Bitty said.

“Yeah?” Kent’s smile widened. He hugged Señor Bun a little tighter.

Bitty gently rotated the jar in his hand. “Does one of these say pie?” he asked, after a long moment of silence.

Kent laughed. “One of them,” he admitted, “ _might_ say pie.”

The semester ended so fast. Before Bitty knew it, he was dressed up, watching Jack and Shitty both walk across the stage in their gowns and mortarboards. His eyes burned a little, but he took as many pictures as he could anyway. And after? When everyone was standing together, taking proud group pictures? Bitty made sure he had a smile on his face.

He was going to miss Jack so much. Shitty, too. He knew they’d both be close by, but the concept of not seeing them every day, of not playing hockey together, seemed impossible to grasp. The thought of not having Jack just across the hall made his chest ache.

Back at the Haus, Bitty scrubbed at the tears on his cheeks as he folded Chowder’s clothes, irritated. Jack was only going to be in Rhode Island! It wasn’t that far away! Certainly not as far as Las Vegas, where, he reminded himself, his _actual boyfriend_ lived.

Still.

Bitty sniffled a little and scrubbed at his tears with one wrist. This was ridiculous! He’d checked to see how far Providence was. It wasn’t that bad. He could still see Jack sometimes, it wasn’t out of the question. So…

A hand on his shoulder startled him. Bitty turned around, pulling one earbud out. “Hello! Jack?”

Jack was panting just a little, his cheeks flushed. What was he _doing_ in the Haus? Didn't he have to leave?

“Oh my goodness -- why are -- is everything all _right_? You’re all out of breath!” Bitty stood up quickly. “You could’ve texted --”

“Bittle,” Jack said, grasping at Bitty’s shoulders with both hands. “I…”

Bitty swallowed, waiting. Jack was so much taller than Kent, his eyes so much more blue.

Leaning forward, Jack pressed a gentle kiss to Bitty’s forehead, one hand lifting to cup the side of Bitty’s face. “Take care of yourself,” he said, voice thick. “I -- you --” his phone buzzed, interrupting his sentence. A muscle jerked in Jack’s jaw as it buzzed a second time. “I gotta go,” he said.

“I know,” said Bitty, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Why did this all seem so familiar, so tender?

“I’ll text you,” Jack said, pulling away. He squeezed one of Bitty’s hands before turning away.

“Okay.” Bitty dragged in a breath. “Okay.”

Dropping into a chair, Bitty stared at the door. What _was_ that? Why would Jack --

It hit him all at once, pieces locking into place. He knew why Jack’s kiss felt familiar. He knew what it meant. After all, Bitty had seen it before, at the hospital.

Jack had kissed Kent that way, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you rhysiana & piesnpucks for your edits. thanks zimmboniandbitty for listening to me when i feel stuck in the story. and thank you for reading.
> 
> feel free to come see me on tumblr at zombizombi.


	21. international smile

When Jack texted, he didn’t mention the kiss. 

Bitty went back to Georgia for the summer. He wasn’t sure how to talk to Kent about Jack’s farewell; after all, Jack hadn’t really  _ said _ anything. Bitty was pretty sure he knew what it meant, but how could he possibly tell Kent that he just had a feeling that Jack was maybe sort of in love with both of them? He didn’t really have anything to base it on other than a kiss in the hospital that Kent likely didn’t even remember.

Kent had already tried to back off in favor of Jack once before. They needed to talk about Jack -- actually, seriously talk about him -- but every time Bitty thought about bringing him up, he couldn’t seem to find the right words. The most Kent had ever mentioned Jack was in the beginning of their relationship, before Bitty knew who he was. Bitty hadn’t forgotten those conversations or Kent’s last birthday. There was a lot to that backstory that he was sure he didn’t know.

At home, it took Bitty a little while to work up the right way to talk to his mother about Kent visiting. Eventually he started the conversation with Jack and let that lead into Jack’s new NHL career and the people he knew and oh, by the way mother, Kent Parson, you know of him? He’s so nice!

Suzanne listened to Bitty talk about how he’d gotten to know Kent -- half truths, really, but only in the beginning -- and after about a week, she asked if Kent wouldn’t like to come visit that summer. It sounded like they were good friends, after all, and hearing that Kent hadn’t had a homemade apple pie on the fourth of July shocked Suzanne just as much as it had shocked Bitty. Something just had to be done about that.

Kent laughed when Bitty told him. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll buy a plane ticket tonight. How long d’you want me to stay?”

“Forever,” Bitty said, without thinking. He sucked in a sharp breath as he realized what he’d said.

There was a small pause before Kent said anything. “Uh -- that might be difficult to arrange,” he said, “’cause I have this cat…”

Bitty laughed, rubbing his face with one hand. “How about a week?”

“Whatever you want, sunshine,” Kent said. “I can do a week.”

A whole week! Bitty would have to think about what they could do. Madison wasn’t that exciting, and besides the fireworks on the fourth, he couldn’t think of many things that’d be going on. It was a good thing he had a bit of time -- after all, Kent needed to bulk up for the season, and he couldn’t  _ just _ feed him pie. He’d have to think of acceptable foods. “That’ll be great. You’ll send me the information for your flight, right, once you have it? ’Cause I’ll have to come and get you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kent said. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll email you the itinerary.” He laughed. “You’re so cute.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “Okay, sweetheart. How’s Vegas?” 

“Boring, mostly,” Kent said. “I mean, aside from the Troy brigade.” He liked Mrs. Troy and her three children -- they were still spending time at Kent’s house, checking on him and making sure he was doing all right. Kent sent Bitty silly snaps of the kids and their outings. “But, you know. I can’t really do anything? They won’t even let me work out. I’m gonna have to work my  _ ass _ off later to make up for this. And I already binge-watched like, every single episode of Golden Girls.” He paused. “But, um. Jack’s been calling me.”

“Oh?” Bitty sat up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Kent sighed. “It’s weird, right? I -- for a long time I would’ve given anything for him to call me. Nightmares and all. Fucking stupid. And now, it was just -- you know he signed with Providence?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, “I knew that.”

“Alexei plays for Providence,” Kent said.

Bitty knew Kent was friends with Mashkov. He’d been so supportive on Twitter when Kent came out, it hadn’t been much of a surprise to Bitty that they’d struck up a friendship. Kent didn’t really tend to have real friendships with people very often, so Bitty had encouraged him to try just a little. It was good for Kent -- Bitty had plenty of friends, but Kent often seemed so… isolated. “Yeah,” Bitty said. “I know. Maybe he and Jack will get along. What else did you guys talk about?”

“He just kind of asked how I was doing. Checking up on me, I guess, which is weird because I didn’t think he gave a fuck. We talked about the playoffs a little bit. He asked about my cat. It’s --” Kent let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, babe. Why is he calling me? I don’t know what the fuck he wants from me.”

“Maybe he just wants to be a part of your life again,” Bitty suggested.

Kent laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “right.” 

“I’m serious,” Bitty said.

“I know you are,” Kent said, “and I love that about you.”

“Flatterer.”

“Is it working?”

Bitty laughed.

Kent was still recording new videos. He was actually doing them faster than normal, which Bitty chalked up to all the extra free time. He’d done several Britney songs already. The latest was one of the only songs on the channel not in English. Bitty pressed play, tilting his head.

“Привет. Боюсь, что я очень плохо говорю по-русски,” Kent said, speaking very slowly. “I, uh. I don’t know how to say the rest of this in Russian, so, uh -- sorry. Прости, пожалуйста. I only know, like, three phrases? And one of them is  _ really  _ rude.” He laughed and gripped his guitar. “So, anyway, I, um. I practiced this a lot and I’m sure my pronunciation isn’t perfect, but it’s my first try singing a foreign-language song.” A pause. “French doesn’t count.”

It was a Russian folk song. The title translated to  _ Beyond the Quiet River _ , and Kent had posted a translation of the lyrics into the “about” section on the video. He’d recorded it at night in his living room, the windows large and dark behind him. Only the body of the guitar and Kent’s arm were really visible; he’d sat far off to the side, letting the camera mostly focus on Kit. 

The song was beautiful. Bitty knew from listening to Kent practice that he must’ve worked on his version of the song for quite a while -- it was very practiced, very smooth. Several commenters praised Kent’s attempt at Russian and mrpotatohead7 left an excited comment half in Russian and half in English, obviously elated by the choice. In comment replies, Kent promised to attempt more languages soon, but pointed out that it took a lot of practice time and he didn’t always have that kind of motivation. Bitty left a comment full of hearts and a request for more songs in French.

Playoffs were still on. The Aces had advanced to the finals through what seemed like sheer force of will. Kent was, in the end, only able to attend games in Las Vegas -- the severity of his concussion kept him from traveling to away games. He went to every single game in Vegas and called Bitty after all of them, reporting on his team’s progress. His frustrated commentary when the Aces lost and his observations about what could have been better in games they won were both accurate. Bitty had never discussed hockey  _ at length _ with Kent. He was so… passionate.

It was cute.

The Aces faced the Montreal Canadiens for the Stanley Cup finals. Despite the fact that the Canadiens’ goalie was injured and they were relying on a backup, the finals went to seven games. The Aces had lost at least two other players to injury during the Cup run, and they’d scraped by with one-goal wins in many of their games. They’d had to shuffle some of their lines without Kent, but they came out and played fierce, but clean, hockey for every game. The last one took place in Las Vegas. 

They won by a single goal made in the last minute of regulation time. The stands erupted with cheers and Troy pulled Kent out on the ice in his street clothes, dragging him over to hold the cup. Kent’s smile was wide and bright and Bitty thought he’d remember the image of him standing in the middle of a rainbow ace of spades, holding the Stanley Cup, forever.

“So I was thinking about the awards,” Kent said, a week later. They were video chatting quietly after Bitty’s parents had gone to bed, both of them curled up in their rooms. “It’s coming up soon, and I was talking with Alexei -- he was sincere about going with me, when he tweeted it?”

“Oh, yeah!” said Bitty. He remembered the tweet. “That’s great.”

“So I thought I’d take him up on it,” Kent said. He toyed with Señor Bun’s ear. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, sweetie,” Bitty said. “Unless you want to go alone, I don’t see why you shouldn’t go with him. You don’t need my permission.” It was nice of Mashkov to offer. He’d been so great to Kent on Twitter and other social media -- it warmed Bitty’s heart to see another player being so vocal about his support.

Kent laughed. “You’re my boyfriend,” he said. “I think it’s polite to ask you how you feel about it before I publicly attend an event with another guy.”

“Sorry,” Bitty said. “Did you want me to be jealous?”

Kent laughed again. “No. God, it’s like I made you in a computer. Okay! Fine.”

Bitty watched the NHL awards with the rest of the guys -- including Jack -- on a group Skype call. It was tradition! They had all placed bets on who would win what a week prior.

Kent was wearing a gorgeous burgundy suit, which he'd paired with a tie pin shaped like the ace of spades and a pocket square striped like a referee's jersey. He arrived with Alexei Mashkov, both of them strolling casually up the red carpet. Mashkov’s navy suit wasn’t nearly as beautiful as Kent’s, and it was clear that both of them knew it. Kent’s smile was his perfect, practiced media smile, but Bitty noticed that he looked a little thin. So many of their video chats took place at night while snuggled under blankets that he hadn’t realized before.

He’d have to do something about that.

They stopped for pictures on the red carpet like all the other players. Kent had something tucked under his arm, but he consistently turned so that it was just out of camera shot. An interviewer commented on Kent’s suit first, stopping both of the men before they could get inside. “You two are looking very sharp tonight,” she said.

“Is good, right?” Mashkov smiled. “Maybe should be more careful, though, not put all the good looks in one place.”

Kent laughed. “First time I’ve brought someone to the awards I actually liked,” he said.

“I think I’m bringing you,” Mashkov said, “not the other way around.” The look he gave Kent didn’t escape Bitty’s notice. 

“Fair point,” said Kent. He grinned. 

The interviewer laughed. “And whose is this rabbit?” she asked.

It was _ Señor Bun _ under Kent’s arm. “Oh,” he said, giving her a winning smile, “he belongs to my biggest fan.”

The camera clearly showed Mashkov’s hand on Kent’s lower back as they stepped inside. Both of them showed up in further footage, signing autographs or talking with other players. They were almost always together, and Bitty was sure it would be all over the internet within minutes. Kent and Alexei were ushered up to the front row, a position likely decided by their stellar skills on the ice as much as by the reporters clamoring for shots of Kent's recovery. Kent sat down first.

As expected, the camera panned to the front row often. Kent and Mashkov were sitting close together, Mashkov’s posture relaxed. He was looking at Kent like he’d rather eat him than dinner, almost always turned toward him, arm slung over the back of Kent’s chair when the camera showed them. Every now and again one of them would lean into the other, murmuring something. Sometimes Kent laughed. 

It took a while for the players to settle down. Kent and Alexei were caught in audience shots from time to time, applauding for other players and grinning. They seemed comfortable together. The Calder and the Art Ross had been determined prior to the Cup finals, and so -- while they were still a big deal -- they didn’t have quite the same air of anticipation around them as the other, more disputed awards. Trophy after trophy went out, each player making a small acceptance speech. Most of them thanked family, significant others, their teams, and their coaches.

Bitty had just gotten back from a quick run to the kitchen for a soda when the announcer stepped up to award the Lady Byng. “And this year the Lady Byng Award for sportsmanship and gentlemanly conduct goes to -- Kent Parson.”

Mashkov hugged Kent, laughing at the look on his face. He leaned forward, murmuring something in Kent’s ear, and then Kent laughed, too. He shook hands with several other players and hugged Troy before making his way up to the podium to accept the award, Bun under his arm.

“I, um.” Kent looked at the trophy. “God. I -- thank you. I just, um. I had this whole acceptance speech planned, but I can’t remember any of it.” He smiled, eyes shimmering. “You know, hockey hasn’t always been the most accepting place. And this year has been… tough. I’ve been lucky to receive the support I’ve had.” His hand hovered near Señor Bun. “From lots of places.” Kent smiled. “Thank you for making our sport better.”

He returned to his seat, pausing to shake hands on the way with a few other players. Bitty was disappointed when the camera cut away from Kent, but the groupchat was alight with speculation on the winners of the next awards. He lost track of time when he had to defuse a squabble between Dex and Nursey.

“They gave Parson the Lady Byng?” Dex said. 

“Well, yeah,” said Nursey. “He displayed sportsmanlike conduct -- he hardly said a word about that attempted murder on the ice. That’s what it’s for.”

“I’m just saying,” Dex said, “that the award should be given based on good play, not politics. You know?”

“It’s not politics, dude,” Nursey said. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“It is politics,” Dex countered. “The NHL doesn’t want to look bad by ignoring the incident, that’s what --”

“Dude, are you saying Kent Parson’s, like, blackmailing the NHL into giving him an award? It’s not even that hard to make the League look bad --”

“That’s not what I --”

“Boys,” Bitty said, “ _ please _ . Nobody’s blackmailing anyone. They voted. Let it go.” The announcer had gone through several awards during the argument. When he turned his full attention back to the video, they were on the King Clancy. 

“The King Clancy Memorial Trophy is presented annually to a player for leadership qualities both on and off the ice while making a significant humanitarian contribution to his community. Let’s take a look at this year’s winner,” the announcer smiled. “Kent Parson.”

A video detailing Kent’s captaincy of the Las Vegas Aces as well as his work with the C.O.P.S. organization began to roll. Bitty knew that Kent spent time and money helping other police survivors -- families who’d lost a loved one in the line of duty -- but they didn’t talk much about it. Kent volunteered with an outdoors program in the summer as well as attending support group meetings and donating money to the organization.

“I didn’t know Parson’s dad was a cop,” said Dex. “That’s cool.”

“He died a long time ago,” Jack said. “Shot on duty.”

“He doesn’t talk about it very much,” said Bitty.

On stage, Kent took the trophy, looking down at it for a moment. He set Señor Bun on the podium next to the cup in full view of the camera. “I’ve already thanked you all,” Kent said. His voice was steady. “And I’m so grateful. I think it’s obvious by now that what we do off the ice matters just as much as the game we play on it. And I think that a lot of us understand that being in the public eye carries some amount of responsibility with it, so. I’d just like to say that tonight, this is for every gay player before me, every player who wasn’t able to be open about his life, his love, his experience. I know you were here.  _ We _ are here. And for those of you who, I know, must still be in the closet, I just want to say that that’s okay, too.” He was looking directly at a camera. “When you’re ready -- if you’re ever ready -- I’ll still be here.” Kent smiled. “Thank you.”

Bitty scrubbed tears off his face.

“Aw, Bits,” said Holster.

“Classy as  _ fuck _ ,” Shitty said. “Goddamnit. He does not give a shit. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Jack didn’t say anything.

“There’s your backup plan, Bitty! Just, you know. Graduate college first,” Ransom said.

“Shut up,” Bitty grumbled, wiping at his face. 

They didn’t show Kent on camera again. The rest of the awards went by in a blur, and all Bitty could think about was how long it might take Kent to get home and how soon he would call. Kent put Bun on the  _ podium _ . Everyone saw it. And for him to basically say  _ I’ll wait for you _ , it just -- if he thought about it too long, Bitty’s throat tightened right up again. When he said goodnight to the rest of the team, his face still felt vaguely damp.

The phone rang once Bitty was already in bed, lights out.

“Baby!” Bitty’s face hurt from smiling. “You were perfect! Lord, you were just -- that  _ suit _ and your  _ speech _ , you were just… just amazing! Lord. I wish I could’ve been there!”

“Eric!” Kent’s voice came down the line, a bit frantic. “Thank god. Listen --  please don’t be mad, okay, it wasn’t my idea -- I didn’t know it was a -- I thought it was just a friend thing, or just a supportive thing, and then --”

“Sweetie,” Bitty said, stomach sinking, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“He  _ kissed  _ me!” Kent said. “Fuck. I didn’t know. I swear to god. I’m sorry. But it’s not cheating if I didn’t kiss him back, right? Or -- or if I only accidentally kissed him back for like, a half a second? Because I would never --”

“Who?”

“Alexei  _ fucking _ Mashkov!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to piesnpucks, rhysiana, and zimmboniandbitty. Y'all are the best.


	22. a broken heart is scared of breaking again

Fuck.

“Skype me,” Bitty said. Kent was obviously distraught. They couldn’t do this over the phone; unless Kent could see Bitty’s face, he probably wouldn’t actually listen to him. Bitty preferred video to phone, anyway, especially after such a long period where they’d had to rely on the phone for everything. “Video. Now.” Hanging up, he settled his laptop on the bed, waiting for Kent to call first. He chewed his lip, fidgeting a little as Kent’s screenname showed up in his ‘online’ list but nothing else happened.

It took five minutes before a call came through. Bitty accepted it immediately, waiting impatiently for the video to connect. Kent’s computer was in his living room and he was sitting on his sofa, still in his suit. His eyes were a little red and he wasn’t looking directly at the camera. His tie was loose and his hair looked as though he’d run nervous hands through it multiple times.

He looked so scared.

“Hey, you,” Bitty said, keeping his voice gentle.

“Hi,” said Kent. He looked down at his hands, twisting them together.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Bitty asked.

“I did,” Kent said, hunching his shoulders a little. One hand came up, gripping at his dad’s St. Michael medal. “I did tell you.”

Bitty sighed. “Baby,” he said. “Look at me. I’m not mad. But we’re doing the talking thing, aren’t we? And you called me so I’m assuming that you want to talk about it.”

Kent glanced up. “He thought it was a date,” he said. “A real one, I mean, in a fucking… Oscar Wilde-reading, ‘you have a nice ass’ way, not in a ‘thanks for being supportive, pal’ way. I didn’t even know --” he clamped his teeth shut and swallowed.

“You like Oscar Wilde,” said Bitty, smiling softly. He shifted a little, leaning back against his pillow.

“I thought he was _straight_ , for fuck’s sake!” Kent hissed. He dragged his hands through his hair. “I thought it was just, y’know. A nice gesture.”

“I know you did,” Bitty said, still trying to keep his tone gentle. Kent responded well to tenderness. “It looked like you guys had a good time.”

“Yeah, it was nice. Probably the best time I’ve had at the NHL awards, all things considered. But I didn’t know he was going to _kiss_ me,” Kent said. “I swear to god, Eric. I--” He finally looked Bitty directly in the face. His eyes were so green. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, baby.” Kent hadn’t done anything _wrong_. If anything, the force of his honesty twisted in Bitty’s stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t been so transparent.

“It’s not cheating,” Kent said, “is it? Because I wouldn’t -- I didn’t --”

“It’s not cheating, Kent,” Bitty said. “Lord. This’d actually be kind of funny if you weren’t freaking out right now.”

Kent didn’t say anything.

Okay. New approach.

“What did you do?” Bitty asked. “When he kissed you. Did anyone see you?”

“No,” said Kent, “no. I -- he drove. It was at my front door. Nobody saw. And I, uh -- I may have slammed my door in his face.” He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Baby,” said Bitty. Oh dear. “Did you really?”

“Well, I didn’t know what to do!” Kent said, defensive. His shoulders tightened. “I think I kissed him back out of instinct for like, a half a second, and then I probably -- uh. I definitely, um. Shoved him away from me and slammed the door. And called you. Goddamnit.” Kent’s doorbell rang. His head snapped up, eyes narrow. “Uh --”

“Answer it,” Bitty said. “It’s fine.”

“Don’t hang up on me,” Kent said. He left the sofa, leaving the camera on. The living room wasn’t that far from the front door, which meant Bitty could hear almost everything.

“Alexei? Why’re you --”

“Look, I know you’re not wanting to see me, probably --” Mashkov’s booming voice carried to the laptop’s microphone easily. “I just want to explain.”

“It’s -- it’s fine,” Kent said, “it’s fine. You don’t have to. Don’t worry about it. I, um. I’m sorry, I -- it’s my fault, I’m pretty sure, and I didn’t mean to… lead you on or… whatever.” The door closed.

Mashkov’s voice was closer. “I thought we understand each other,” he said. “I’m not trying to make you angry. I thought you’re wanting…”

“I’m not _mad_ , I just... thought you were straight,” Kent said. He sounded nervous, voice carrying that edge that Bitty had worked so hard to soften. “I mean, I really -- you never said anything, so, I just… I assumed.”

“Do you know,” said Mashkov slowly, “what is like in my country? To be --” he paused. “Is not like it is here.”

“I’m sorry,” Kent said. “I didn’t mean, um. I shouldn’t’ve assumed.”

“I’m thought you knew,” Mashkov said. “We talk so much.You give speech about being okay with people who don't come out. You play song for me.”

“ _What_?” Kent’s voice was sharp. “I -- I’m sorry?”

“In Youtube,” Mashkov said, slowly, “on internet.” There was a pause. “You… don’t play song for me?”

“No,” Kent said. “I -- you saw my _songs_ ? You’ve seen -- ah, _fuck_ ! Mrpotatohead7! That’s _you_?”

“I’m --”

Kent came walking into view, hand pressed to his temple. “Jesus,” he said. “No. I had no idea. Uh --” he turned, looking back toward the front door. “Please don’t tell anyone. I mean, that’s -- it’s not supposed to be -- it’s supposed to be anonymous. How did you know it was me?”

“Recognize your voice.” Mashkov’s voice was closer.

“Right,” Kent said. He leaned on the back of the sofa. “Right. Shit. Well -- then why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Not realizing I need to,” Mashkov said, as if it were obvious. “I comment on things. You play Russian song.”

“Yes. I did do that,” Kent said. “But --”

“You are lonely,” said Mashkov, and it twisted in Bitty’s chest. “I’m thinking it meant something.”

_Lonely._

Kent looked up, biting his lower lip. “No, I’m -- _yes_ , I did a Russian song, but it wasn’t -- it wasn’t _for_ anyone,” Kent said. “I just haven’t had much else to do and we have a couple Russian guys on the team and -- and I’ve been trying to, you know, learn some basic phrases. I thought it would be nice. Captain stuff.” He was moving back, watching as Mashkov slowly came into view, stepping closer. “That’s -- that’s all.”

“Yeah.” Mashkov came around Kent’s sofa. He was still in his navy suit, and he looked even bigger next to Kent. Solid. Strong. “Is okay.”

Kent looked up at him, shoulders tight.

Mashkov put a hand out, resting it on Kent’s shoulder. “Is okay. Yeah?”

Bitty watched Kent flinch -- just barely -- when Mashkov touched him. Was it because he knew Bitty could see? Kent looked at the hand on his shoulder for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”

“Sorry I don’t ask first,” Mashkov said. His thumb brushed over Kent's shoulder carefully in a way that Bitty assumed was meant to be comforting. He was looking at Kent with a soft, warm expression on his face.

“That’s --” Kent took a breath. His eyes were wide, staring up at Mashkov’s face. “That’s okay.”

Mashkov tilted his head, not saying anything.

Kent swallowed, taking a step back. Mashkov’s hand fell away from his shoulder. They left the camera’s view then, both heading back in the direction of the front door. Bitty let out a heavy sigh.

“We’re good,” Mashkov said, voice further away. “Right? I can call you later?”

“Yeah,” Kent said softly. He laughed. “Kinda feels I should be asking you that, but yeah. We’re good. I, uh. Sorry about slamming the door in your face.”

Whatever Mashkov said in response was quiet enough that Bitty could only make out the rumble of his voice. The sound of the door closing was followed by a long stretch of silence -- Kent’s place was so quiet. Kit jumped up on the sofa, stretching. Faint sounds of movement elsewhere in the house broke the silence on camera. When Kent returned to his sofa, he was carrying a glass of water. He threw himself down onto the cushions.

“Hi,” Bitty said softly, watching Kent take a drink and set the glass on his table.

“Hey,” Kent said, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “So, um. That was --”

“I heard,” Bitty said.

“Oh,” said Kent, glancing up at the camera. “Right. Of course you did.” He pulled Señor Bun onto his lap. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. “Um --”

“Was he right?” Bitty asked.

“About what?”

“You,” Bitty said. He picked at the edge of his sheet. “Being lonely. Was he right?”

Kent looked down at the rabbit in his lap. He ran a finger over one of the seams. “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just lately. It’s because I couldn’t play. It’s not a big deal.” He cleared his throat and loosened his collar, fingers moving slowly to undo tiny buttons. “I don’t want you to worry.” After a moment, Kent rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he said. “I’m awful.”

“Oh, honey,” Bitty said. “You’re not. It’s okay. It’s not that big of a deal. Right? Just a misunderstanding? It didn’t turn out so bad.” He paused. He was going to have to just come out with it. If he wanted Kent to really be honest with him, Bitty was going to have to be honest, too. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.

“I don’t know,” said Kent, pulling at the knot of his tie. “I just -- I feel like a dick.”

“That makes two of us,” Bitty said softly. Shit.

Kent paused, hands on the buttons of his shirt. His gaze flicked back up to Bitty’s face. “Why?”

Bitty took a breath, gripping the edge of his sheet. “You remember that graduation was in May, right?” he said slowly.

Kent’s hands sank away from his shirt buttons.

“Jack found me before he left,” Bitty said. “He just came to say goodbye. And --”

“Is that why you’re not mad at me?” Kent asked. “Because you --”

Fuck. No. He couldn’t even let Kent finish that sentence. “ **No** ,” Bitty said, raising his voice as much as he dared, “baby. _No_ . I’m not finished, okay? He just came to say goodbye and kissed me on the head. Nothing _happened_. And I’m not mad at you because there’s no reason to be.”

Kent turned his head as Kit bumped his arm. Like a reflex, his hand came up to scratch softly behind Kit’s ear. “If it’s nothing, then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” Bitty said, stumbling over his words a little, “I -- I don’t know what it means. He didn’t _say_ anything, not really. It was just the standard ‘take care of yourself, Bittle.’”

“Eric…” Kent sighed. “It’s _Jack_. Fuck.” He rubbed the back of his neck, dropping his head forward.

“I know.” Bitty sighed, too. His stomach felt tight. “We both -- he --” He paused. “I think we both have some, um.” He twisted his fingers together. “Things to think about? Maybe? When it comes to Jack. I know he cares about you, sweetie. And I know you’re still hurt so bad that you can hardly stand it.”

After a long, quiet moment, Kent scrubbed a hand across his eyes. “Providence is closer to Samwell than Vegas.”

“Kent,” Bitty said, leaning forward. “Don’t. He kissed you, too, okay? In the hospital. I know you don’t remember it, but I saw it, and I think he, I don’t know. Whatever there is between him and me, it’s there between him and you, too.”

Kent shook his head. “I don’t --”

“Baby. Please. This -- this is _exactly_ why I didn’t want to tell you,” Bitty said, cutting Kent off. How could he put this? “I need you to -- I don’t _care_ that Providence is closer to Samwell than Vegas is, okay? I love you, but you can’t keep putting one foot out the door like this.”

Kent was quiet for a long time, looking away from the camera and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Bitty chewed his lower lip. Had he said too much? Or maybe -- not in the right way?

He should’ve been softer with Kent.

“I know,” Kent said, finally. “I _know_ . I’m sorry. I’m not -- I’m not _trying_ to be like this. I love you, too. This is just… so hard.” He looked at Bitty again, leaning his chin in his hand. “I mean, I know that long distance relationships are never easy, and I know that my schedule makes it worse. And I know I need to… deal. With Jack.” He swallowed. “I guess I just, I don’t know. It’s always been this way for us, and I thought it would be easier. That I was used to it.”

“It was easier when we didn’t know what we were missing,” Bitty said. Now that they’d spent nights together, had time together, Bitty missed Kent in an entirely different way. “It’s not the same.”

“Yeah.” Kent rubbed his upper arm. “I miss you. And it’s fine, you know, and I know I’ll see you soon. If you, uh. If you still want me to. But I just -- I wish _you_ could’ve come to the awards with me. And I wish you were here.” He swallowed, looking down at Señor Bun. “I, um. I know it’s stupid. And I know that you love me. I do. But I -- part of me is just… waiting for the day when I mess up too much and you realize that you don’t want to be with me any more.”

Bitty let out a soft breath. “I know,” he said. “But thank you for finally telling me, sweetheart. It’s not stupid.” He paused. “I want to be with you. I wish -- I wish I could’ve come tonight, too.”

“I know.” Kent glanced back up at the camera. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. “I’m working on it,” he offered. “The whole… one foot out the door thing. Which, for the record, is… I didn’t know I was doing that.”

“Yeah?” Bitty shifted on his bed.

“Yeah.” Kent cleared his throat. “I called my insurance a few weeks ago. I, um.” He closed his eyes, as if steeling himself for something. “I started seeing a therapist,” he said.

“I’m proud of you,” Bitty said.

Kent opened his eyes. “What?”

“I’m proud of you,” Bitty repeated.

Kent’s brow furrowed a little. “That’s…” he said. “Um. I -- thank you?”

When was the last time someone told Kent they were proud of him? Bitty assumed he heard it in hockey all the time. As Kent went back to unbuttoning his shirt, Bun sitting off to the side again, Bitty leaned back against his pillows. He always liked this part, the part where Kent shed his NHL persona and allowed himself to just… be.

Kent disappeared for a moment and then the laptop was moving, the picture blurry as he carried it upstairs. When he reappeared on camera, contacts out, Bitty’s Samwell shirt on, and Harry Potter in hand, the knot in Bitty’s stomach loosened a little. That was better.

“I can’t wait to see you, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “Are you gonna bring your book?”

Kent looked up from the pages. “You still want me to come?”

Bitty frowned. “Lord,” he said. “Of course. You can’t be serious, honey.”

Kent scrunched his nose for a moment. “I’m just checking,” he said. He grabbed his glass of water.

“I think you’ve had enough of that for a while,” Bitty said, snuggling down into his covers.

“Have I?” Kent asked. “What about body checking?”

“Oh, you want me to ram you into the boards, huh?” Bitty grinned. “You want me to end up in the penalty box?”

Kent choked on his water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, bless rhysiana & piesnpucks for their edits.
> 
> Previous chapters have been slightly edited for compliance with the Swoops as Troy revelation. It's not super important right now, I'm just telling y'all. Anyways, heard somebody was talkin' shit about the slow burn???? ;D
> 
> Look, y'all! No cliffhanger! Right? (or is there...)  
> I'm getting soft.


	23. madison

On July second, Bitty stood on his tiptoes, eyeing the arriving passengers for any sign of Kent. The flight was on time, according to the arrivals board. He hadn’t gotten a text message from Kent yet, but they had to have landed. Fidgeting with his phone, Bitty looked up at the boards again. Maybe he could find Kent by the baggage claim?

He’d managed to convince his parents -- mostly his Mama -- that it would be fine for him to go pick Kent up by himself. It wasn’t an  _ awful  _ drive from the Atlanta airport back to Madison, and, in all honesty, Bitty wanted Kent all to himself. He wanted to hold hands on the drive back from the airport, to kiss Kent when he saw him. He wanted to make sure Kent wasn’t freaking out too much about meeting his parents. Bitty checked the boards again, looking for baggage claim information.

It took a few minutes for him to get from the arrival area to the baggage claim. By the time he’d gotten down there, the light on the carousel for Kent’s flight was already flashing, bags coming out. Bitty scanned the crowd for Kent. When he caught sight of him, he grinned.

Kent had his guitar slung across his back and Señor Bun tucked up under one arm. His Aces cap was on backwards, like always, and he was wearing a faded blue t-shirt that said Math is Radical on it. No doubt he thought it was  _ hilarious _ . He wasn’t looking in Bitty’s direction, and no one in his vicinity appeared to have recognized him. When a black monogrammed duffel bag slid up the ramp and onto the carousel, Kent stepped forward, weaving through people to grab it. He scooted out of the way then, getting his phone out of his back pocket as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with one finger.

Bitty smiled. A few seconds later his phone chimed with Kent’s text message.

_ I’m at the baggage claim _ .

When Kent looked up from his phone, Bitty was standing right in front of him. He startled. “Eric! Jeez!” Kent said. “Make some noise next time!”

Bitty laughed and then Kent’s arms wound around him, the duffel bag hit the floor, Señor Bun following, and he couldn’t focus on anything but the feel of Kent’s mouth on his.

When they parted, Kent bent to pick Señor Bun up from the ground before pushing him into Bitty’s hands. “Here,” he said, voice a bit breathless. “I brought him back in one piece.” He glanced over a shoulder.

Bitty laughed. “I knew you would, baby,” he said. “Thank you. You know you could’ve just put him in your stuff, though?” Tucking Bun under his arm, he bent to pick up Kent’s luggage.

Kent beat him to it. “It’s okay, I got it. This is all I brought, anyway.” He glanced around again. “Where’s your car?”

“Oh -- really?” Bitty blinked. Just one duffel bag? That was it? He’d expected Kent to show up with… a lot more stuff, frankly. He’d indicated before that he planned to stay on track with his training while visiting, so Bitty had expected at  _ least _ an extra bag of workout gear. “Well! Okay. C’mon, sweetpea, I’m parked out in the short term garage, so we’ve gotta walk just a little.” He turned to head for the stairs.

Kent’s hand slid into his a moment later, despite the fact they were still in the airport. Their fingers curled together as Bitty’s neck warmed with a blush, but neither of them said anything.

It was a decent little walk to the spot where Bitty had parked his truck. “You have a good flight? It was long, wasn’t it?” Bitty glanced at the duffel bag. “You want me to carry something?”

“I got it,” Kent said. He laughed. “And I slept through the flight, actually. Like usual.”

“Right,” Bitty said. Kent slept through his flights all the time. 

They climbed some stairs to get to the level Bitty’s blue four-door pickup truck was on. It didn’t have keyless entry, and when Bitty walked up to it to unlock the door, Kent paused. Bitty unlocked the driver’s door and pressed the button to unlock the passenger’s side. 

Kent stared at the truck. “This,” he said, “is  _ not _ what I was expecting. Damn.”

Bitty laughed. “Why not?” He took Kent’s duffel bag and tossed it into the back seat. “C’mon. It’s a bit of a drive back to Madison.”

“Oh my god,” Kent said. “Okay.” He slid the guitar case into the cab, letting it lean against the seat. “So,” he said, once he’d climbed in and shut the door.

“So,” said Bitty, turning the key in the ignition.

“Didja miss me?”

A soft smile curved the corner of Bitty’s mouth. “Always,” he said.

“So this is Georgia,” Kent said, and then he laughed, tugging at the front of his shirt. “Ugh. It’s like a sauna out here.”

Bitty laughed. “I tried to warn you.” He pulled out of the parking spot. “You shouldn’t’ve worn jeans.” Not that he didn’t appreciate the view, but still. 

“It’s cold on airplanes!”

It took them longer than expected the get out of Atlanta due to traffic, but once they were on the highway, Kent rolled his window down despite the heat. Sticking his hand out the window of Bitty’s truck, Kent let it jump through the air like a dolphin as they drove. He was smiling and soft, the sunlight warm on his face. Bitty kept glancing at him, but Kent was always looking out the window, taking in the sight of a Georgian summer, silent.

“Baby,” Bitty said, finally.

“Mm?” Kent didn’t look over.

“You okay?”

Kent finally turned his head. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.” His hand drifted over to rest gently on Bitty’s thigh. “I was just thinking.”

“Yeah?” Bitty turned the radio down a little. “About what?”

“You,” said Kent. “Georgia.” He worried his lower lip with his teeth.

_ Georgia _ really meant  _ your parents _ , and Bitty knew that. “It’s gonna be fine,” he said. “They’re gonna love you. I promise, honey.” 

“I know. I mean, people in general tend to love me.” Kent laughed before leaning his head back on the seat. He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “How transparent am I to you, huh?” 

“Depends on the day, baby.” Bitty smiled.

“What if they don’t?” Kent asked, voice soft.

Bitty shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. Besides, it’s not like --” he paused.

“It’s not like they think I’m your boyfriend,” Kent said. “Huh?”

“Yeah.” Bitty chewed his lower lip.

At Kent’s request, Bitty took them by a grocery store before they got to Madison -- Kent had to eat “a lot” and was very insistent about bringing his own food because of it. He had a list on his phone, mostly protein and produce. As they strolled through the aisles, Bitty kept catching Kent glancing at him, a soft smile on his face.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Kent said, flushing. He caught Bitty’s hand as they walked back to the car, lacing their fingers together for just a moment before letting go.

When they pulled up in the driveway, Kent stared at Bitty’s house. “We’re here?” he asked.

“Yep,” Bitty said. He squeezed Kent’s thigh. “C’mon.” He grabbed groceries.

Kent took a quick breath. “Right,” he said. He slid out of Bitty’s truck, shouldering his guitar before going around to the back to grab his duffel bag. Hesitating, Kent watched Bitty walk up the stairs of the front porch. His gaze flicked over the soft, butter yellow paint on the house and the old porch swing before settling on Bitty, paused on the stairs.

“You coming?” Bitty asked.

“Yeah,” Kent said. He hefted his bag and joined Bitty on the stairs. “Yeah.”

Bitty brushed gentle fingers along the small of Kent’s back before pulling away.

His parents met them as soon as they walked in. Coach extended a hand immediately.

“Kent Parson!” Suzanne’s bright smile matched Bitty’s.

“Hello, sir,” Kent said, shaking Coach’s hand. “Ma’am.” He smiled at Suzanne, his bright media smile. “Thank you so much for having me.”

“Goodness,” she said, “so polite. Welcome to our home! What are -- Dicky, why do you have groceries?”

“Kent said I had to, Mama,” Bitty said. He took them into the kitchen. “Apparently he’s gonna eat his weight in eggs. I told him you’d be offended but he just insisted on having his way, so here we are.”

“I eat a lot,” Kent said, as Coach tried to cover a laugh. “What? I do!”

After a few remarks on bulking up for the season, his flight, how he found the Georgia weather, and whether or not he was hungry, Kent followed Bitty down the hall to stow his things before dinner. Suzanne had set up an air mattress fitted with cool blue sheets on the floor in Bitty’s room. Kent paused in the doorway, looking around at the tiny Christmas lights around the window, the Beyoncé poster on the wall, and the various knick-knacks Bitty hadn’t taken to college.

“Your mom left your room the same, huh?” he said, voice soft. After leaning his guitar case against a wall, Kent set his bag on the air mattress.

“You’re sleeping in the bed,” Bitty said. “And yes, I mean -- I come home every summer, so there’s no reason to mess with it. I think she likes having it be the same. Lord knows it was hard enough taking what I took to college and trying to make decisions about that, so --”

“No,” said Kent.

“No?” Bitty frowned. Oh, right. The air mattress. “You can’t sleep on the floor,” he said.

Kent sat down on the mattress and grinned up at Bitty. “Who’s gonna move me?” he asked. “You?”

“You’re being very antagonistic right now, Mr. Parson,” Bitty said. 

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Bittle.” Kent mock-bowed. “Thank you for the pleasure of your hospitality. I would be most honored to attend the ball. I --” A pillow hit him directly in the face.

Dinner was a perfectly normal meal -- meatloaf and mashed potatoes and salad and tea -- eaten as a family around the dining room table. Kent crossed himself after Coach said grace and waited for someone else to take a bite before he started eating. Because it was Coach, much of dinner conversation revolved around sports -- it hadn’t been long since the Stanley Cup win.

“Shame you couldn’t play,” Coach said, “that was a hard hit.”

“I think that was the worst I’ve ever had,” Kent said. “But I’m fine.”

“Dicky had a concussion last summer,” said Suzanne. “It took him quite a while to feel better.”

“That’s contact sports for you.” Coach smiled. “I’m sure your family’s real proud of you, son. You had a great season.”

Kent smiled. “Thank you.” They talked a little more about how supportive the Aces were before Kent tactfully changed subjects, asking about the school and Coach’s work.

Overall, he was charming. Bitty’s parents were easily won over, as he knew they would be, by Kent’s perfect manners and bright smile. He complimented Suzanne’s cooking and chatted with Coach about various sports. Conversation was even easier than Bitty had anticipated. After dinner, Kent helped Bitty wash dishes, standing  _ just _ close enough for their elbows to bump occasionally. 

Despite having slept on his flight, Kent admitted to being tired once they finished the dishes. He excused himself to take a shower, and Bitty followed him down the hall. “I’ll get a towel for you,” he said. “The bathroom’s the second door on the left, there.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Kent ducked into Bitty’s room to fetch his toothbrush. “I know it’s kind of early, but I went running before my flight, and --”

“No, of course not!” Bitty handed over a soft green towel, letting their fingers brush together for just a moment. “Here. Enjoy your shower. It’s not a big deal.” 

Kent bit his lower lip. “I --”

“Go on, honey, I’m sure no one minds,” Bitty said, waving Kent on down the hall. “Mama would probably send you to bed, anyway.” He returned to the living room and watched some television with his parents.

Kent was already in bed when Bitty opened the door. The light wasn’t off, but he had set his glasses on Bitty’s bedside table and was wiggled down under the sheets. “You still up?” Bitty asked.

“Mhm.” Kent stretched and crossed his arms under his head. “For a minute. Long enough for you to read, maybe.”

“Oh, I’m reading?” Bitty laughed. “Lemme brush my teeth first. Don’t fall asleep, okay?”

“Okay.” Kent’s eyes were closed.

Bitty quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth. After bidding his parents good night he went back to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Debating with himself for a moment, he flipped the lock on the door. That done, he turned back to face the bed and then crouched down next to the air mattress.

“Scoot over,” Bitty whispered. Kent obliged, sliding an arm out from under the sheet and winding it around Bitty’s torso to pull him close. They curled together on the air mattress as Kent traced idle patterns on Bitty’s shoulder with one finger. “Still want me to read?” Bitty asked.

“Mm. It’s fine,” Kent murmured. “You don’t have to. Or you can. I don’t care.” His voice had the soft drag it always had when he hadn’t slept in a while. After a moment, his arm tightened around Bitty. “I missed you.”

The feeling was mutual. Bitty slid a hand up Kent’s chest. “I missed  _ you _ ,” he murmured, lips close to Kent’s ear.

“Eric!” Kent hissed, suddenly much more awake. “Not in your  _ parents’ house _ .”

Wait. Seriously? “Oh, honey,” Bitty said. He pulled back a little. “Where do you think I was the first time?”

“Oh my god,” Kent said. He buried his heated face against Bitty’s shoulder.

Bitty laughed. “All right,” he said, “all right. Go to sleep. I love you.”

“I love you,” Kent said. He pressed a soft kiss to Bitty’s temple.

Kent was gone when Bitty woke up. Heading into the kitchen, Bitty rubbed the back of his neck. His Mama was pouring a cup of coffee and she handed it to him, smiling. “Morning,” she said.

“Hi, Mama,” said Bitty. He added milk and sugar to the coffee before taking a sip. “Where’s Kent?”

“Your father took him to the gym,” Suzanne said. “Said he could use the weight room. They’ve been gone a little while now, actually.”

“Unnecessarily early,” Bitty said. “Isn’t it?”

She laughed. “It is.”

After making plans for dinner, Bitty went back to his room to get dressed. Checking his phone, he saw a notification of a new video from SweetiePie90. When had he even had  _ time _ ?

It was Deana Carter’s  _ Strawberry Wine  _ \-- Bitty knew that song, he had to have heard it a hundred times because it was one of his Mama’s favorites. It was the first and only country cover on Kent’s channel. He’d tweaked the lyrics just enough to match his gender, but the rest of the song was the same. The video was golden, glowing with early morning sunlight. He’d filmed it on the back porch, sitting on the stairs, guitar balanced in his lap. A cup of coffee sat on the porch next to him, and the faint background chirping of birds was audible. It was an unedited video, filmed with a phone, one of the few on the channel that was just the song and absolutely nothing else. 

It was one of the happiest and most peaceful videos on the channel. Bitty smiled, watching it twice before moving on to check his twitter. There were still a few NHL awards-related rumors circulating, he saw, but Kent’s twitter hadn’t been updated since the ceremony. As usual, Bitty checked the Aces account -- they were all passing the Stanley Cup around, and that morning there was a photo of it full of cereal, the little Troy children all fighting over who got to eat out of it first.

When Kent returned he was covered in sweat and carrying his shoes. He opened Bitty’s door with a sigh. “God,” he said, “I need a shower.” Moving forward, Kent dropped a kiss onto the crown of Bitty’s head. “Hey, you.”

“Hi, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “Have fun?”

“Your school’s gym is really big,” Kent said. He rummaged in his duffel bag, pulling out toiletries. “I was surprised. It’s nice.”

“Ah, yeah,” Bitty said. “I guess it’s perfect for you, huh?”

Kent glanced up. “What’s the plan for today?” he asked.

“I thought I’d show you around,” Bitty said.

Kent grinned. “In your pickup truck? We gonna listen to country radio and drink sweet tea, too?”

Bitty threw a pillow at him. Again.

They took a tour of Madison, starting with the historic homes. Kent had all sorts of random questions about types of houses and Bitty couldn't really name a thing about the architecture or historical significance that wasn't already on the markers in front of the homes. He knew more about the families that owned the houses than the houses themselves.

Bitty took them to his favorite café for lunch, fighting the impulse to reach for Kent’s hand or hook their ankles together. It was one thing for Kent’s hand to rest on his thigh in the truck, where no one could see. It was another entirely to be seen touching in public, and they both knew that. Madison wasn’t big like Atlanta.

As they returned to the house, he let out a soft sigh. The oil light was on. “Since we’ve been runnin’ around today I’ll change the oil in the truck real quick before we head out again -- I’ve been putting it off. That okay?”

“You change your own oil?”

“Well, yeah,” Bitty said. “It’s not that hard.” Did Kent not know how to change the oil in a car? Really?

“I guess,” Kent said.

“You want me to show you?” Bitty asked. He parked the truck in the driveway. “All the stuff is here -- Coach doesn’t believe in paying for basic maintenance you can do yourself.” He laughed. Hopping out of the truck, Bitty collected the things he needed from the garage. Kent watched him put the jack under the truck, saying nothing.

Coach pulled up just as Bitty slid under the truck. “You boys having fun?”

“Eric was just teaching me about changing the oil,” Kent said.

“Oh,” said Coach, “that’s something you ought to know, son. Didn’t your dad teach you?”

Ah, shit. Bitty slid back out from under the truck. “Hi, Coach,” he said.

“No,” Kent said, at the exact same time, “my dad died when I was nine.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Coach said. He glanced at Bitty. “Well, I’m sure Junior’ll teach you. Or if there’s something else you want to know, I’m sure I can.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kent said.

Bitty smiled a tight smile. “Okay. C’mere -- get that bucket.” He beckoned Kent down so he could see under the truck. “We’re just gonna loosen the bolt here on the oil pan, see?”

“Well, Junior, don’t skip steps,” Coach said. “Tell him how to find the pan.”

Bitty sighed. Right. He should’ve known that Coach would have something to say about how he was doing things. He gave Kent a very quick explanation of how to find the oil pan before having him stick the bucket under it. “There. Loosen that bolt.”

“Once the oil starts comin’ out you should clean that bolt,” Coach said.

“I got it, Coach,” Bitty said, “thanks.”

“All right, all right.” Coach left them to work on the truck in peace.

“Why are we doing this?” Kent asked.

“The oil gets worn out, I guess,” Bitty said. “There’s a more technical reason, I’m pretty sure, but basically it’s just not that efficient. Bad for the engine or something.”

“Okay, cool.” Kent stared at the oil in the pan. “It looks gross.”

Bitty laughed.

Once they’d changed the filter and put the pan back on, Bitty slid out from under the truck again. “Come out,” he said.

“I did that awhile ago,” Kent said, but he wiggled out from under the truck anyway, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bitty removed the jack from beneath the truck and went around to pop the hood. “Okay, so we’re just gonna put new oil in here -- see, it has this little icon? And then we’ll run the engine for a minute.” 

“Okay,” Kent said. He was paying close attention to everything Bitty was doing.

“So we’ll just put this back on here, see --” Bitty leaned forward, reaching over the engine to show Kent what he was talking about. When he stepped back from the car, Bitty realized that Kent was staring at him, a soft smile on his face. “What?” He picked up a rag, wiping grease off his hands.

“Can we go somewhere?” Kent asked, eyes lingering on Bitty’s forearms.

“What, _ now _ ?” Bitty frowned. “But we just got back --” His face heated with a blush when he registered the way Kent was looking at him. “Oh,” Bitty said. He leaned on the truck. “You like this, huh?”

Kent stepped closer.

Bitty leaned over the engine again. “How about this? You wanna see me get my hands dirty? I can take these gloves off.”

“Eric, I’m serious,” Kent said. “Take me somewhere.”

“The engine’s gotta run for a little bit, first,” Bitty said.

“Yeah,” said Kent, “tell me about it.” He pulled away quickly, putting more distance between them.

They both went in to clean up once the oil change was done. Bitty scrubbed at his hands with a gritty bar of soap and then went to the kitchen to pour tea for both of them. They could go out again after dinner -- he probably needed to help cook, after all, and Kent needed to eat again. Bitty checked in with Suzanne before heading back down the hall to his room, carrying the glasses of tea. He turned, bumping the door with his hip to open it. The sound of Kent’s voice issued out through the door, surprising him. Was Kent on the phone? He had to be. 

“ _ Il n'y a pas de soucis, ne t'en fais pas _ ,” Kent said. He paused. “ _ Je sais que vous êtes très occupée. Mhm. Ouais, je comprend. Mhm _ .” A soft sigh. “ _ Comment Nina et Dan vont-ils _ ?” Another pause. “ _ C'est génial _ .” 

Bitty peeked through the door. Kent was rubbing his forehead with one hand. “ _ Je vais bien, ne t’en fais pas _ ,” he said. Catching sight of Bitty, he offered a small smile and waved him in before turning around. “ _ Moi aussi je t'aime. Mhm. Au revoir, maman _ .” Kent hung up. 

“Um,” Bitty said, “sorry. I didn’t realize you were --”

“It’s no big deal,” Kent said. “It was just my mom. She was calling to tell me happy birthday.”

“Now? But your birthday is tomorrow,” Bitty said, not thinking. He handed Kent a glass of tea.

“She’s busy tomorrow,” Kent said, accepting the glass.

“Oh.” Bitty brushed the tips of his fingers down Kent’s arm. “Well, that’s okay. So are you.” He smiled.

Kent glanced at the bedroom door before winding an arm around Bitty. “I was hoping I’d be busy today,” he said, tone playful.

Kent helped with dinner despite Suzanne’s initial protest. The three of them in the kitchen made short work of it, and then Kent and Bitty sat in the living room, Kent idly practicing guitar while Bitty checked his twitter. Kent played through a few Disney songs before settling down to work on something that sounded complicated but not really like a recognizable song.

After dinner, Bitty took Kent to the lake with a blanket in the back of his truck. When he parked the car Kent laughed, looking out over the water. “This the makeout spot in this town?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” Bitty said, unbuckling his seatbelt. The sun was setting.

Kent turned to face him, reaching for him already, hands sliding up under the hem of Bitty’s t-shirt without preamble. “I missed you,” he murmured, leaning in to press a hot kiss to Bitty’s neck.

Tangling fingers into Kent’s hair, Bitty let his head tip back, exposing more of his throat. “I know,” he said, “I know. I missed you --” Kent’s teeth closed around his ear. “ _ Fuck _ , baby, I --” He felt dizzy, almost, hot yet shivering. Kent’s tongue slid over the skin of Bitty’s neck and he shuddered. Everything but Kent, warm and solid under Bitty’s hands, faded into the background.

After, as he leaned against Kent’s chest and stared out at the water, Bitty couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy.

They returned to the house, hands linked until the very last possible moment. Bitty pulled away from Kent entirely on the porch, running a hand over his hair before opening the door. It was late, and the house was dark. They’d managed to stay out well past Bitty’s parents’ -- and elderly neighbors’ -- bedtime. They crept down the hallway to Bitty’s room, and once the door closed behind them, Kent let out a soft laugh. 

“I love you,” Kent said. “I’m gonna shower and brush my teeth, okay?”

“Yeah, honey. Go ahead.” Once Kent was gone, Bitty changed into his pajamas. He was just climbing into bed, Harry Potter book in hand, when an irritating alarm started blaring somewhere in his room. It took him a minute to register what it was.

Kent’s phone was ringing, one of the provided default ringtones. Bitty reached for it to silence it; Kent was in the shower, he’d have to call whoever it was back. Leaning over, Bitty caught sight of the screen. It was just black, the red and green buttons bright at the bottom, a name in white text lit up along the top:

_ Jack Zimmermann _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strawberry Wine came out in 1996 and is probably the most successful song Deana Carter ever had. 
> 
> Thanks so much to piesnpucks and rhysiana for your edits, as always. Y'all make this better every time and I really appreciate you. French help from urgotest and dangcommaannie; the conversation isn't super important, it's pretty much just Kent telling his mom it's fine if she's busy and asking about her husband & baby.
> 
> Check out this super amazing [ART](http://zombizombi.tumblr.com/post/157349223369/look-a-not-tiny-version-of-this-grade-a) by littlestpersimmon!


	24. swing me way down south

Bitty swallowed. Should he let it go to voicemail? He shouldn’t, right? Jack was probably calling for Kent’s birthday. The ringtone started over and Bitty bit his lip. It would roll over to voicemail soon -- he had to decide.

Kent's phone was well onto its way of repeating itself for a third time when Bitty grabbed the phone, pressing the green button to accept the call. “Hello?”

“... Bittle?”

“Hi, Jack,” Bitty said.

“Oh,” Jack said. “Right. Uh -- is Kent there?”

“He’s in the shower,” Bitty said. “He’ll probably be out soon, though.”

“Oh, okay.” There was a pause. “So, uh. How’s Vegas? You having fun?”

“We’re in Georgia,” Bitty said. “Kent came to visit. You know, I’m not sure he’s had a proper Fourth of July before?” He laughed. “I’m gonna make an apple pie, and Mama’s real excited about taking him to the picnic, so --”

“Oh,” Jack said, again. “Wow. Okay, um. I can just call him back, it’s not a big deal --”

“It’s real nice of you to call,” Bitty said. “I’m sure he’ll be out in a little bit.” He chattered a little bit about showing Kent around and how his summer was going, asking Jack questions here and there about training camp and how he was doing. He was _so sure_ Kent would be happy Jack had called. It had to be the first time they’d spoken on Kent’s birthday in years, right?

Eventually Kent pushed the door open, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “Sorry,” he said, “I got distracted in the shower. W-- are you on the phone?”

“Baby!” Bitty held the phone out. “Sorry, I didn’t want you to miss a call, so -- it’s Jack.”

Kent’s focus flickered from the phone to Bitty’s face and back for a minute. Taking the phone, he put it to his ear, expression unreadable. “Hello?” His voice was soft. “Hi, Jack.” Kent swallowed once. “Happy birthday!” he said, and then he frowned. “No, I don’t know why I said that. Well, yeah, I know it’s not _your_ birthday -- I mean thank you,” he said. Another pause. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bitty tilted his head. He’d thought Kent would be… happier? Maybe? To hear from Jack. Was this how their phone conversations went now? Stilted and awkward? They’d seemed so much more comfortable with each other in Las Vegas. What changed? Holding out a hand, he grasped at Kent’s fingers.

Kent glanced at Bitty again as their hands curled together. He joined Bitty on the bed, settling next to him. “Georgia is fine. The Bittles are great, they’ve been really nice to me. Mr. Bittle is, um... Mhm. Yeah.” He laughed a little, but it was reserved. “Yeah. It’s so hot. I mean, not like Vegas hot, like -- like swamp hot. Or something.” Pausing, Kent listened while brushing his thumb over the back of Bitty’s hand. “Well, no. I, um. I mean, that’s not up to me, so... Yeah, I hope you’re having a nice summer, too… no, that’s okay. You didn’t have to call me. I mean, not that it’s bad, I just -- I didn’t think I’d hear from you.” Kent swallowed. “Yeah, no, I know, it’s just -- yeah. It’s late, yeah. Okay. Uh-huh. Bye, Jack.” He paused.

Kent hung up and then stared down at the phone in his hand.

“Is everything okay?” Bitty asked.

Kent cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s fine. He was just calling to tell me happy birthday.” He tugged his shirt off over his head, tossing it down onto the air mattress. His phone followed.

“Okay,” Bitty said. He brushed soft fingers over the nape of Kent’s neck. “You sure?”

Kent wound an arm around Bitty’s waist, pulling in close. He flopped over onto his side, his weight dragging Bitty down with him. Nuzzling against Bitty’s neck, Kent let out a soft sigh.

“Honey?” Bitty asked.

“I’m fine,” Kent said. “Don’t worry. It’s just weird, hearing from Jack this time of year.”

Right. Bitty toyed with a piece of Kent’s hair. “Good weird, or bad weird?” he asked.

“Uh… weird weird,” Kent said. He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. Sometimes talking to him is great, and sometimes…”

“Not?” Bitty asked.

“Sometimes it makes me feel seventeen and scared,” Kent said, “and I’m so tired of being afraid.” He tucked his face in closer to Bitty’s neck, letting out a soft sigh. “I don’t -- I don’t know what I want, Eric,” he said. “I don’t know what _he_ wants. For a long time I thought I would give anything to have him back in my life, but…”

“But?” Bitty kissed Kent’s head.

“But I wouldn’t,” Kent said.

“Wouldn’t what, baby?”

Kent’s arms tightened around Bitty’s torso. “Give anything. And realizing that was really fucking mind-blowing.”

“You know,” Bitty said, voice soft, “you can let Jack back into your life without losing me. Not everything has to be all or nothing.”

“I’m an all or nothing kind of guy,” Kent murmured. “And all of me is here.”

Bitty curled a hand over Kent’s thigh. Neither of them said anything else, instead choosing to simply be together, cuddled close in Bitty’s bed. Kent’s breathing slowed, deepening as he fell asleep. Bitty flicked off the lamp by his bed before snuggling down into his pillow. The soft hum of his overhead fan coupled with Kent’s quiet breathing lulled him to sleep.

Some hours later, a strange, rasping noise pulled Bitty out of sleep. Rubbing his face, he sat up a little. What time was it? Leaning on one elbow, Bitty blinked in the dark. The rasping came again and Bitty turned his head toward the sound.

Kent was rolled over towards the wall, face crushed against his pillow. At some point in the night they’d disentangled from each other, Kent turning one way and Bitty the other. His shoulder twitched and Bitty realized, suddenly, that the sound was coming from _Kent_ , swallowed screaming that wasn’t quite making it out of his throat. It came again and Bitty frowned.

Gripping Kent’s shoulder, Bitty shook him gently. “Baby.” Kent choked a little and Bitty shook him harder, pushing on his shoulder to roll him over. “Honey. Wake up.”

Kent shoved Bitty away from him as he rolled onto his back. “No,” he said, the word barely audible.

“Kent,” Bitty said. He reached a hand out to brush the hair away from Kent’s forehead. It was damp with sweat. “Baby. It’s okay.”

Kent twitched under his touch, eyes springing open. “Please,” he gasped, jerking away from Bitty’s hand. Sitting up, he pressed both hands to his face, taking in a shuddering breath. “ _Fuck_.”

“You were having a bad dream,” Bitty said. He reached out for Kent’s shoulder, pulling his hand back when Kent winced. “But it’s okay now. It was just a dream”

“God. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Kent murmured. “I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “What time is it?”

Bitty reached a hand over, picking up his phone. He squinted at the bright light of the screen. “Three in the morning,” he said.

“Mm.” Kent pulled away, slowly extricating himself from the sheets and easing around Bitty to get out of the bed. “Go back to sleep,” he said. “I’m just gonna get some water.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Kent pressed a soft kiss to Bitty’s cheek before pulling away from him. “Go to sleep, babe.”

Bitty rolled back over. It took a few minutes, but despite his intention to wait for Kent to return, he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke back up a little while later, he was still alone. Sitting up, Bitty rubbed his face. Where was Kent? The bed was cold; he obviously hadn’t come back. He glanced at the floor, but the air mattress was unoccupied, too. Sliding out of bed, Bitty padded through the house, checking the living room and the kitchen. He couldn’t find Kent until he looked out the back door and caught sight of him on the back steps, looking up at the sky.

Bitty poured two glasses of tea before slipping out the back door. “Baby?” There was no sign that Kent heard him, but he moved forward anyway. Bitty sat down next to Kent, holding out the glass. “You’ve been out here for a while,” Bitty said softly. “It’s four thirty.”

Kent stared out into the dark.

Was this normal for him? Was this what ‘I didn’t sleep well’ meant? “Is this what happens when you say you had trouble sleeping?” Bitty asked. Kent hadn’t moved, so he wiggled his hand. The ice clinked in the glass. “Here, honey. Take it.”

“Pretty much.” Kent didn’t look at him, but took the glass from his hand. “It went away for a while. Or, I guess -- I guess it happened less often, I don’t know. But since the hospital, I, um. It’s worse.” He took a long drink from the glass.

“And it’s Jack?” Bitty’s voice was very soft. “That you dream about?” He was sure Kent had mentioned dreaming about Jack’s overdose before.

“Yeah. It’s like a replay of the worst day of my life,” Kent said, “except even worse, because usually I don’t get there until he’s dead or --” he swallowed. “Or he’s dead and then he’s not and he chokes me until I am.” Lifting a hand, Kent rubbed at his neck. “And I wake up and I can’t breathe and it’s -- It’s so fucking stupid. It’s been happening forever. I should be used to it by now.”

God. Bitty couldn’t imagine what that would feel like. “I think it’s normal to be traumatized after something like that,” Bitty said. “How could you get used to something like that, honey? Lord. You were so young, both of you, and -- finding Jack like that, I’m sure it --”

“I’m not _traumatized_ ,” Kent snapped.

Bitty swallowed.

Closing his eyes, Kent took a breath. “I’m sorry. It’s -- I just, I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s just a dream.”

“Baby,” Bitty murmured. “It’s the love of your life dying over and over. It’s not just a stupid dream that shouldn’t bother you. I would be a wreck if I dreamed about you killing me over and over.”

“Jack is not the love of my life,” Kent said.

“You thought he was, though,” Bitty said. “Didn’t you? And I think that kinda stays with a person.”

Kent swallowed again. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess.”

Brushing soft fingers through Kent’s hair, Bitty sighed. “What do you need?” he asked.

“What?” Kent turned his head finally, looking at Bitty with clear grey eyes. “What do you mean?”

“From me,” Bitty said.

Kent’s mouth curved in a tender smile. “You always know before I do,” he said.

They stayed out on the porch steps, Bitty leaning against Kent as they looked up at the night sky. The stars were bright in Madison, the sky perfectly clear.

The sound of a door shutting jerked Bitty awake. Birds were chirping and bright, hot morning sunshine was pooling around the porch. He sat up, tilting his head. His neck hurt something _awful_ \-- turning to look at Kent, he bit his lower lip.

Kent was leaned against the railing, face peaceful in sleep. His summer freckles were beginning to scatter across his nose. Bitty turned when he heard a soft sound and saw Suzanne peeking out of the back door.

He scooted away from Kent, getting up and grabbing the glasses. “Hi, Mama,” he whispered, stepping inside.

“Dicky, what’re y’all doing out there?” Suzanne asked. The smell of coffee was already permeating the kitchen.

“Kent had trouble sleeping,” Bitty said.

“Oh,” she said, “poor thing. He’ll get a crick in his neck out there, though --”

“I know!” Bitty rubbed his own neck. “Lord. I’ll go wake him up in a minute, once there’s coffee.”

“It’s his birthday today, isn’t it?” Suzanne asked.

“Yeah!” Bitty pulled two mugs out of the cabinet. “I thought pancakes?”

“Of course,” Suzanne said.

Bitty poured coffee into one of the mugs and splashed milk into it until it turned the shade of tan he knew Kent liked best. Carrying it out to the back porch, he set it on the railing. “Good morning,” he said, leaning over -- but not too close -- and placing a hand on Kent’s shoulder.

Kent pulled in a long breath. “Mm.” He leaned away from the railing, wincing a little. “God. Did we -- did I fall asleep out here?”

“We did,” Bitty said. “But I brought you coffee, birthday boy.”

“You’re a saint,” Kent said. He pressed a hand to the back of his neck. “Ugh.”

Bitty laughed. “C’mon. The neighbors’ll talk about you if you’re out here much longer, and I’ve gotta make your birthday breakfast.”

“Birthday breakfast?” Kent stretched, arching his spine for a moment. He stood and picked up the mug of coffee, taking a long drink from it. “I should get to the gym first.”

“You won’t have any energy to work out with,” Bitty said. “Aren’t you trying to gain weight?”

Kent rolled his eyes.

They went back inside where Suzanne was mixing pancake batter. She looked up, smiling. “Morning,” she said. “You boys have fun looking at the sky last night? I can’t believe y’all fell asleep out there.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kent said, flushing a little. “I just had a little trouble sleeping. But your porch is extremely comfortable.”

Suzanne laughed. “Well, sit down,” she said, gesturing toward the table with a spoon. “We’ll have breakfast ready soon.”

Kent glanced at Bitty. “I guess I can wait to go to the gym for a little while,” he said.

Bitty had expected Kent to eat a very large stack of pancakes, but when he ate as much as Bitty had seen _Holster_ eat, he was still surprised. “Do you need me to make _more_?” he asked, staring at Kent’s plate.

Coach laughed.

“This is fine,” Kent said. He laughed, too. “What? Why’re you staring at me?”

“It is so good to see a boy who eats,” said Suzanne.

“Gotta get ready for the season,” Coach said.

When he’d finished eating, Kent took his plate to the sink. He refused to leave the kitchen without helping wash dishes, saying it was the absolute least he could do. In fact, he helped Suzanne clean the kitchen countertops, too, before allowing her to shoo him away.

Kent waited around for a little while, watching television with Bitty and chatting with Suzanne before he got dressed and headed out with Coach. They were gone for a little while, giving Bitty a chance to discuss the food choices for the barbecue that evening. Everyone in Madison -- or almost everyone -- turned up for the Fourth of July barbecue.

When Kent and Coach returned, Suzanne and Bitty had just finished drawing up a grocery list. Bitty turned when Kent entered the kitchen. “You’re back!”

“Hot,” Kent said. His face was a bit flushed.

Bitty pulled a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with water before handing it to Kent. “Here.”

Kent took a long drink.

“Do you want to go to the store with me?” Bitty asked. “I’m gonna pick up a few things we need for tonight.”

Kent finished the glass of water he was holding before answering. “Can I shower first?” he asked. “How urgent is this food mission?”

“You have enough time to bathe,” Bitty said, laughing. “Go on. I’ll get dressed, too.”

The two of them headed to Bitty’s room, where Bitty sat on the bed while Kent sat on the floor and stretched his legs.. He was in the middle of a pretty impressive stretch when his phone rang -- not the default tone from Jack’s call, but Kiesza’s “Hideaway.” Kent got up and answered quickly. “Hey!”

“Happy birthday!” Bitty could hear Alexei Mashkov’s booming voice.

Kent laughed, holding the phone a bit away from his face. “Thanks, man,” he said. “I, um. That’s really nice of you. Damn, it’s early, though! What the hell!”

Whatever Alexei said next was softer, and Kent pulled his phone back up to his ear, a warm smile on his face. “Yeah! No, his family’s been great. Yeah, I know. No, it’s -- yeah, it’s weird. I don’t know. Everything’s warm here, you know? Not just the weather.” He laughed. “Uh-huh. No, I’ll get the Cup when I go home. I dunno, I think Swoops gets it right before me.” He paused. “Yeah? Okay, hold on, I’m -- I’m gonna put you on speaker, all right?” Kent pushed a button on the screen. That done, he motioned at Bitty’s laptop. “Can I use this?”

“Okay,” Mashkov said, and Bitty smiled. “You go on the YouTube now, yes?”

Bitty laughed. _The_ YouTube. How cute.

“Oh!” There was a pause. “Eric?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, “sorry. Is that okay?” He glanced at Kent. “Go ahead, honey.”

“Is fine,” Mashkov said. “I’m show Kent a video. You can watch, too, if you want.”

“Thank you,” Bitty said.

Pulling up YouTube, Kent clicked through to his channel. “Okay,” he said. “Now what?”

“Go finding the video replies,” Mashkov said.

Kent found the video reply to his latest, and it took him through to a video of a man playing piano, most of him off screen. He played through a short version of happy birthday before moving into a very pretty waltz. Kent’s face softened as he leaned his chin in his hand, watching. “Aw,” he said, “Alex. You play piano?”

“I’m telling you this before,” Alexei said, tone disapproving. “You don’t remember anything I say, huh?”

“Why didn’t you sing it in Russian?” Kent asked. He grinned.

“You don’t speak Russian,” Alexei said.

Bitty laughed.

“Thank you,” Kent said. His voice was gentle. “I mean it. It’s awesome.”

“C Днём рождения,” Alexei said. “I’m having to go now, but --”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Kent said.

“Yeah,” said Alexei. “Have fun fireworks, okay?”

“Yeah,” Kent said, “I will.” He hung up, smiling at the phone in his hand for a minute.

“He’s sweet,” Bitty said.

“Not like you are,” Kent said, looking up, “but yeah. He’s great.” He stretched. “Ugh. I gotta shower.”

“Go ahead,” Bitty said. “I have plenty to do.”

Kent left his phone when he went to shower, and Bitty gazed at it for a moment, thinking. He’d looked so _happy_ when he’d answered the phone. It was the way Bitty had expected he’d look when he answered the phone for Jack. Bitty thought about that while he worked on a pie crust in the kitchen, while Kent scrubbed his hair in the shower and tried not to sing too loudly.

He always made apple pie for the Fourth of July, but this year he wanted the pie to be _perfect._ It was hard not to tweak the recipe, but he didn’t want to mess about with it too much -- after all, a great pie was a great pie, right? He carefully dusted the apples with cinnamon.

Kent seemed to be getting on with Bitty’s parents quite well. It was sweet, actually, seeing him interact with Coach. No doubt Kent was a perfect example of the kind of son Coach had always wanted. Well, except for -- nobody had said anything about Kent’s being the first out player in the NHL. It hadn’t come up once. But Bitty was sure his parents _knew_.

So what did that mean?

He still hadn’t figured it out when Kent joined him in the kitchen, hair damp and feet bare, begging for something to do. Bitty motioned to the grocery list. “Put some shoes on,” he said. “We’re going to the store.” He had to rest the crust anyway, so a grocery run would be perfect.

As Kent slid into the passenger’s seat of Bitty’s truck, he pulled at the front of his shirt -- an American flag tank top that Bitty was certain he’d seen before. Last year? In a video, maybe? The freckles on his shoulders were getting darker. Aware of his need to stop blatantly staring, Bitty focused on putting the keys in the ignition. “Did you stop sweating yet?” he asked, not looking at Kent. Starting the truck, he pulled out of the driveway.

“I will eventually,” Kent said. “I think. Probably. I don’t know.”

They stopped at a gas station where Bitty filled up his truck and bought Kent a Cheerwine. Cracking it open, Bitty handed it through the truck window. “Here, honey.”

Kent accepted it, turning the can around in his hand. “What is this? Your version of Loganberry?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty said.

“I’m gonna guess yes.” Kent took a drink. “Oh! It’s cherry. Wow.”

Bitty laughed and tried not to think about how pretty Kent’s mouth looked.

At the grocery store, he stuck to the list, trying to get them in and out as quickly as possible. The grocery store was extremely busy -- the Bittles hadn't been the only ones to save groceries for the last minute. The looming deadline of the Independence Day Picnic meant that Bitty's neighbors were far more interested in shopping than socializing. Kent stayed close to Bitty’s side, but he never reached out to close the distance between them. In the truck on the way home, Kent’s hand found its way to Bitty’s thigh.

The Independence Day Picnic was a tradition. Bitty had gone to it every year since his family had moved to Madison, and they _always_ brought pies. Well, they always brought one apple pie and Bitty’s lemon bars, which were the first things he’d really modified the recipe to, the first dessert he called his own. They were sour and sweet and there were never any left to bring home.

Kent watched him blend the butter, sugar, and flour. “What’s this for? Is it pie?” he asked. “Can I help?”

“No,” Bitty said. “You can’t. Bless your heart.” He began to press the crust gently into the pan.

Kent frowned. “I’m not awful in the kitchen, you know. I mean, I’m not a barefoot countess or whatever, but --”

“It’s the Barefoot Contessa,” Bitty said. “And really? _That’s_ who you come up with first when you think of a professional chef?”

“Well, she has a TV show,” Kent said, “and --”

“She can’t even hold a _knife_ properly!” Bitty interrupted. “The Barefoot Contess-- I can’t believe you. Come on.” He worked on the filling as Kent pouted, sitting at the table and leaning his chin in one hand.

“I just want to help you,” he said.

“I know. It’s cute. But I bring these lemon bars to the picnic every year and they’re my personal recipe, so I think I can manage them all by myself, honey.” Bitty glanced up. Kent was too cute, pouting at the table with his backwards cap, begging Bitty to let him _help_. It was distracting. It was a lot to pretend to ignore. “Why don’t you go see if Coach needs your help with anything?”

Kent left the kitchen, wandering out toward the garage. Bitty finished his lemon bars, popping them into the oven for a final time before getting started on the cold pasta salad they planned to bring. Suzanne came into the kitchen a little while later, smiling as she opened the refrigerator.

“What, mama?” Bitty asked.

“You know,” she said, closing the fridge door and setting greens on the counter, “I’m so glad you brought Kent over for the holiday.”

“Oh?” Bitty stirred the noodles. “He out there with Coach?”

Suzanne ran the greens under some water. “The two of them are just yakking away in that garage over the old car engine, and I haven’t seen your daddy so excited about that car in a while --”

“That’s great,” Bitty said. Coach had his father’s old classic car stashed in the garage. He’d worked on it every so often, but work and everything with Bitty’s sports got in the way. No doubt he was explaining things about it to Kent and getting the both of them extremely dirty. Something twisted in Bitty’s stomach.

“No doubt Kent never got to spend time with his father like that,” Suzanne continued. “He looks like an excited puppy. It’s good for the both of them.” She smiled at Bitty. “You’re so sweet to think of this, I’m sure it means a lot to him.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, thinking of how nervous Kent had been during the drive back from the airport, how concerned he was about meeting Bitty’s parents and whether or not they’d like him. It wasn’t a _boyfriend_ thing -- except that it totally was. “It does. I mean -- I’m sure it does. I don’t think he sees his family very much or anything.”

“Bless his heart,” said Suzanne, already hard at work on the greens.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Bless his heart.”

The barbecue was, as always, packed. Just like every year, families brought chairs and blankets and tables to the front lawn of the Madison-Morgan Cultural Center, setting up to share food and fireworks and music. Bitty didn’t plan on staying for the fireworks, but everything else seemed like the perfect distraction from Kent’s usual birthday melancholy. Guiding Kent through the crowd, Bitty set his lemon bars on the table Coach had set up, having kept the apple pie at home for Kent to enjoy without a fight. Dusting his hands off on his shorts, he grinned at Kent. “Ready?”

“Why do I feel a sudden overwhelming sense of dread?” Kent asked.

“Oh, c’mon. You’re gonna love this.” Bitty steered Kent toward a line of people, each picking up paper plates when it was their turn. John Philip Sousa’s _Stars and Stripes Forever_ was playing on a loudspeaker.

“Now, I’m not saying that you have to try _everything_ ,” Bitty said, standing just in front of Kent in line, “but… you should totally try everything.”

“Okay, but -- what is _this_?” Kent was paused in front of a yellow casserole, staring down at it.

“Corn pudding,” Bitty said.

“Um,” Kent said. “I don’t really want to eat that.”

“Just try it,” Bitty insisted, spooning a tiny amount onto Kent’s plate. “Just a little bit.”

“Why are you like this?” Kent asked. He let Bitty load his plate with small bits of lots of things, and as they made their way to a picnic table, he stared down at them all with an incredulous expression.

“What?” Bitty asked. “I’m only trying to share my culture with you. You’ve never even had a proper Independence Day.” He threw a leg over the bench and sat.

“I’m just amazed at the fact that I don’t know what like, more than half of this is,” Kent said. He sat next to Bitty, contemplating the plate in front of him. “Okay. I’m gonna start with…”

“The corn pudding,” Bitty said. “Just go for it.”

“God. Okay. Fine,” Kent said. He took a bite, screwing up his face almost instantly in obvious distaste. He swallowed a bit later, immediately reaching for the glass of tea. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

Bitty couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of him. “You look like a little kid,” he said, “oh, lord. Can I -- hold on, I’m gonna take your picture --” holding up his phone, he snapped a quick photo.

Kent quickly put a bite of barbecue in his mouth and his eyes widened. It went over much better than the corn pudding. As instructed, he tried everything on his plate, giving Bitty his thoughts about all of them. They were engaged in a heated discussion over the existence of casseroles when Suzanne and Coach joined them.

Coach offered him a beer and Kent politely declined. “Thank you, sir,” he said, “but no. I’m okay.” He held up his glass of tea.

“This looks like a hot debate,” Suzanne said, glancing between Bitty and Kent.

“Kent said casseroles shouldn’t exist,” Bitty said. “Can you believe that? _Shouldn’t exist_.”

Suzanne turned to Kent. “Now, you listen here --”

Coach started laughing. “You don’t know what you just started here, son.”

Kent rubbed his face. “I didn’t know this was so personal,” he said.

“That is not true,” Bitty retorted. “You know how personal this is! What about the _jam_?”

“Oh,” said Coach, “the jam.”

“The jam,” Kent echoed.

"It was nice knowing you," said Coach.

By the time they were eating dessert, Kent had heard all about the merits of the casserole. They were all working their way through pie, listening to whatever random song about America was playing, when Bitty realized it was getting dark. Suzanne got up to throw something away and Coach was off talking to someone from church, leaving Kent and Bitty alone by the table and Bitty’s now-empty lemon square plate.

Kent looked up at the sky. “Didn’t you say there’d be fireworks?” He grinned, glancing back to Bitty before pitching his voice just a little lower. “Or did you mean the other kind?”

Pulling his focus away from Kent’s thighs, Bitty flushed. “I know the perfect place,” he said, “for both kinds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> piesnpucks. rhysiana. yall the MVPs.


	25. you give me the hummingbird heartbeat

Bitty had always planned on making sure that he and Kent could watch the fireworks completely alone. He had the perfect place in mind -- and he’d made sure to stash some blankets in the bed of the truck, enough to make it comfortable for firework watching and cuddling. As he parked his pickup truck by a secluded tree, Bitty glanced over to Kent. He was smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kent said. “This is just such a chick flick move. Did you hide wine in the back of the truck, too?”

“You love chick flicks,” Bitty said, cutting the engine. “Now get in the back.”

“So bossy,” Kent said. “It’s _my_ birthday --” He looked at Bitty’s face for a moment before grinning. “Yeah, okay. The back, back? Or like --”

“Get out of my truck,” Bitty said.

Kent slid out of the truck, climbing into the truck bed where he rustled around, settling in just in time for the first firework to light up the sky with sparkling gold.

Bitty curled up against Kent’s side, smiling a little wider when Kent’s arm curved around him. It felt natural and perfect, like a teenage dream come true. As a particularly pretty combination of red and blue burst in the sky, he let out a soft “oooh.”

Kent’s arm tightened around him. “You’re so cute,” he said.

“I love the fireworks,” Bitty said. “I watch them every year.” Settling his head against Kent’s shoulder again, he stared up at the sky. The fireworks were gorgeous -- Madison always put on a good display. The familiar scent of Kent’s cologne and the soft rhythm of his breathing were peaceful and grounding, punctuated by the boom and crack of fireworks. Kent’s fingers brushed back and forth on Bitty’s shoulder, idly dragging across the skin as he watched the brilliant lights.

“Eric?”

“Mm?”

“If I say something really fucking cheesy and stupid, are you gonna laugh at me?”

Bitty thought about it for a moment. “Well,” he said, “not _now_.”

“I just, um.” Kent let out a long sigh. “I -- I want you to know how grateful I am. For you. To you.” He bit his lip. “You just -- you always exceed my expectations. You listen to me. You take time for me when you don’t have to. You put up with how… how I know I can be, and you _chose_ me when you didn’t have to, when I didn’t deserve it.” He paused. “And I know, like, that nothing is perfect and we’re probably gonna fight more, I just wanted to, uh. Say thank you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bitty said. “I love you.”

“I know,” Kent said. “That’s the thing -- I _know_. Because you’ve made sure I do.”

Bitty turned his head, catching Kent’s mouth with his own. It was easy to slide hands underneath clothes with both of them dressed for the Georgia summer. Kent straddled his lap, gently twisting his hips, grinding them together. Bitty let his hands drag down Kent’s sides, feeling the hard muscle of him. Kent’s mouth on his became more pressing, and he opened to that insistence without thinking, their tongues sliding together. Bitty’s shirt came off first and then Kent put a hand between them, fingers hooking into the waistband of Bitty’s shorts, ridding him of them a moment later. When Bitty reached for Kent’s zipper, Kent caught at Bitty’s hands with one of his. “Just let me,” Kent breathed, lips close to Bitty’s neck.

Kent pressed a hand to Bitty’s chest, pushing him back, and Bitty leaned against the hard metal of the truck, padded with the blankets he’d brought. Bitty took a deep breath as Kent kissed his collarbone, mouth sliding lower every moment. Kent left his lap and Bitty heard a soft rustling to his left, the sound of a package tearing open and the flip of a plastic lid. Turning his head toward the sounds, he gasped as he felt Kent’s tongue run over the skin of his inner thigh. A finger, cold with lubricant, stroked just below his balls and Bitty shivered, closing his eyes again. The warm heat of Kent’s mouth was enough to distract him, almost, from the press of Kent’s finger working its way inside, joined quickly by a second.

Kent curved his fingers and Bitty’s back arched as he let out a moan that felt embarrassingly loud. His thighs eased wider as Kent continued the pressure, stroking him in a languid fashion, easing his mouth lower. Bitty wondered, vaguely, where exactly Kent was planning on putting his tongue before he felt it, dragging along his skin as Kent gently pressed what felt like a condom up against him. Bitty barely heard the soft “Is this okay?” and gasped out his permission before he felt Kent’s tongue press against him, flat and hot against the latex.

“Oh my god,” Bitty gasped, his fingers tightening into a fist in Kent’s hair. “Holy sh--”

He’d wanted this for a while now, wanted Kent to take the lead, to do what he wanted with him. It was hard enough getting Kent to initiate contact -- Bitty almost always touched him first, suggested something first. But this? This was entirely different, entirely new. Kent pulled his fingers apart, slid his tongue between them. Bitty shoved his hips forward, pushing back against Kent’s tongue as it twisted inside him, joining his curving fingers. “Oh my god,” Bitty gasped, hand tight in Kent’s hair, “baby. Please. _Fuck_.” When Kent pulled away from him Bitty let out a soft whine, not ready for it to be over. The soft sound of Kent rinsing his mouth barely registered over the fireworks.

There was only a short moment before Kent’s hands were on him again, holding his hips. “Eric,” Kent murmured, pushing into him slowly, “Eric, I love you.” His mouth was sweet with the hot mint of mouthwash.  


Bitty felt like all his nerves were on fire, lit up with the sinuous, sweet rhythm building between them. Kent pressed a hand to his face, brushing his thumb over the curve of Bitty’s cheek, sliding it along his lower lip. The brush of Kent’s eyelashes against his nose was soft while his kisses were searing, the movement of his hips deliberate and slow. It was precious and perfect and Bitty arched against him, winding their bodies together. Kent pressed their foreheads together and for a moment their eyes met in the dark.  
  
Kent kissed him again, leaning into his touch, and Bitty tightened his thighs around him. The boom of fireworks covered the sound as he came, and it was only the barest moment after that Kent kissed him before burying his face in Bitty’s shoulder, body shuddering.   


They curled together on a blanket, Kent’s head pillowed on Bitty’s chest. Bitty drew lazy circles on Kent’s back with one hand.

“Hey, Eric?” Kent said, voice soft.

“Yes, honey?”

“I love you,” Kent said.

“I love you, too,” Bitty said. He toyed with a piece of Kent’s hair. “Happy birthday, baby. I hope you had a good day. I meant to do more with you, but then we just sort of got caught up cooking, and -- _lord_ , you haven’t even eaten your pie! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Kent said. “We’ll eat it when we go back. It’s not going anywhere.”

“Did you have a good day, at least?” Bitty asked.

“Yeah. Even though you made me try corn pudding.”

“Hey!”

Kent laughed. “I mean it. This is the best birthday I’ve had in… maybe ever.” He stretched.

“You tired?” Bitty ran his hand down Kent’s back. “You wanna go home?”

“Not yet,” Kent said. “Hold me for a minute.”

“Okay.” Bitty rested his head against Kent’s. After a stretch of silence, something occurred to him. “Baby. Did you hide mouthwash and stuff in the back of this truck?”

Kent laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course I did. Yesterday.”

When they made it back to the house, Bitty immediately warmed Kent’s pie and cut them both a slice. As he set it in front of Kent on the household Happy Birthday plate, Bitty hummed the birthday song. Kent stared at it for a moment, biting his lower lip.

“What’s wrong?” Bitty asked.

“Nothing,” Kent said. “Absolutely nothing. It’s perfect.” He traced the bright blue writing around the edge of the plate with one finger. The noise Kent made when he put a bite of pie in his mouth was positively indecent and Bitty was certain that he blushed hearing it. Kent ate two pieces of pie before they went to bed, both of them exhausted.

The next morning -- Sunday morning -- Kent’s alarm went off a bit later than usual. Before coming to Madison he’d asked Bitty about going to church, because he didn’t like to miss. Kent rarely missed mass even on roadies.

Bitty hadn’t ever gone to mass. The only Catholic church in Madison was Saint James, and it was small. He’d had to look up service times online.

Kent had packed a silvery grey suit to wear to church -- he’d hung it up in Bitty’s closet when he arrived. “You don’t have to go with me,” he said, for what seemed like the millionth time, buttoning his shirt quickly. “It’s okay.”

“I’m going with you,” Bitty said. “I don’t mind. I mean, I don’t know what to _do_ , but I don’t mind going.” He’d gone to church every single Sunday of his entire life until Samwell. What was one more?

“It’s not hard,” Kent said, “but there’s a book that’ll tell you what to do, if you want.” He was tying his tie without even looking at it. “Have you never been to mass before?”

“We’re Baptist,” Bitty said, watching Kent’s fingers brush over green silk.

“Mmm.” Kent finished with his tie and sat down to put on his socks. They were floral, covered in leaves and flowers that reminded Bitty of Hawaii. “Well, I appreciate it -- you know I do -- but for real, you don’t have to go.”

So much protesting. “Do you not want me to go?” Bitty asked.

Kent looked up. “What? No! No, of course I want you to go. I love that you said you would. I’m -- I’m just saying.”

Bitty sat next to Kent. “You usually go alone, huh?”

“Yeah.” Kent pulled on his second sock. “I just don’t want you to think you have to, or something. I mean, Jack never --” he stopped talking. Standing, Kent moved away from Bitty to grab his jacket. “C’mon. I don’t wanna be late.”

Bitty followed Kent in, copying his motions by dipping fingers into the water near the door. Kent knelt before sitting down, so Bitty did, too. He immediately knelt again in the pew, so Bitty copied him, resting his knees on the lightly padded bench. When Kent sat back, Bitty sat back. It was chilly in the church.

He caught Kent smiling at him. A moment later, Kent slid a book into Bitty’s lap. “Just follow the directions,” he whispered.

It was completely different from church service as Bitty knew it. The book listed what he was supposed to say and when he was supposed to say it, as well as explaining that the sermon was called a homily. There was standing and kneeling and hand-holding and he felt desperately out of place, a hair behind everyone else, but Kent was happy. His voice was sweet, his face peaceful. He draped his arm across the pew as they listened to the priest. It was all very… serene. During the part of the service the book called the sign of the peace, Kent pulled Bitty into a warm hug, holding him close for just a moment.

As they left, the hot, humid summer air hit them like a wet towel. Kent pulled his jacket off, rolling up his sleeves. Bitty laughed.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Kent said, once they were back in Bitty’s truck.

“Of course, honey,” Bitty said.

Suzanne had lunch ready when they returned to the house, chicken and potatoes and salad and bread. Kent helped with the dishes before changing into cooler clothes. He settled in the living room with his guitar while Bitty helped Suzanne prepare a few things ahead of time for dinner. When he made it to the living room a little while later, Kent was idly playing through something that sounded a little classical. Bitty stopped in front of him.

“Hi,” Kent said. He was wearing a tank top that said ‘y’all means all’. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Bitty paused. “Hey, you wanna teach me something?”

Kent looked up at him. “What, on this? You want me to?”

Bitty shrugged.

Kent leaned the guitar away from his chest. “Sure. C’mere.”

Bitty sat down next to him. Kent set the guitar on Bitty’s lap. It was warm with his body heat, and after just a little hesitation, Bitty settled it against his chest. “Oh, it’s heavy,” he said.

“Most of it sits on your leg, anyway,” Kent said. He adjusted Bitty’s hands a little and moved the body of the guitar on his lap until it sort of fell into place. “There.”

Bitty wrapped his fingers around the neck of the guitar, looking at the strings.

“Just, um. Hold the neck in the V there, between your thumb and index finger?” Kent said. He moved Bitty’s hand. “There.”

Letting his other hand drag over the strings, Bitty winced when an undignified sound came out of the guitar. “Lord,” he said.

“I have a pick somewhere,” Kent muttered, fussing with the guitar case, “hang on.” It took him a bit of time before he came up with a bright blue triangular piece of plastic. “Here!” Handing it over, Kent grinned.

“You don’t use these,” Bitty said, holding it up. “Do you?”

“Well, not anymore,” Kent said. “I mean, not usually. Sometimes I do.”

It took a lot of fiddling and discussion before Bitty finally managed to settle his fingers correctly against strings and play a basic chord. Kent was encouraging and positive, repeating himself and showing Bitty the same thing multiple times without a loss of patience or enthusiasm. They went over several chords and, some time later, Bitty found himself playing -- very slowly -- the beginning few chords of _Brown Eyed Girl_.

“Oh,” said Suzanne, carrying a load of laundry through, “Dicky! You’re playing guitar?”

“Well, just a little,” Bitty said.

Kent grinned at Suzanne. “You know _Brown Eyed Girl_ , don’t you, Mrs. Bittle?”

She laughed, blushing a little. “Please. Of course I do.”

The rest of Kent’s time in Madison was not, in Bitty’s opinion, full of activities that would be considered memorable -- they took walks, they went swimming, they watched _Dirty Dancing_ with Suzanne. Kent worked out every day. They ate dinner with the family. Bitty took Kent to a few places in town that he thought were interesting, but Kent just seemed so _happy_ doing boring, normal things.

Bitty could handle boring, normal things. “I thought I’d take you to the library today,” he said one morning after breakfast. They only had one day left.

“The library?” Kent grinned. “Why?”

“I think you’ll like it,” Bitty said. Plus, it would get Kent out of the house and give them a little more time alone.

The Madison County library wasn’t all that impressive. Still, Kent looked delighted when they went inside, wandering off from Bitty’s side almost immediately. Bitty returned a book to the circulation desk before heading for the young adult section. Summer reading was just meant to be fun, and really Bitty didn’t enjoy reading all _that_ much. Not like Kent. Still, they had fun reading together and Bitty had started to appreciate it a little more thanks to their nightly _Harry Potter_ sessions.

He’d found the book he wanted and was curiously peeking at another some time later when his phone vibrated. _Meet me in section 22-A_ , Kent’s text read. Bitty shook his head, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. Looking up, he checked to see what section he was in. 8? He’d have to go find 22. Bitty headed for what looked like the back of the library -- 22 was a long way from 8. They’d have to go, soon. It was almost closing time.

Rounding a corner, Bitty saw Kent standing next to a shelf, eyes focused on the books. Looking at the sign on the section, Bitty smiled softly.

 _Romance_. How… typical.

Kent glanced at him and held out a hand. Bitty laced their fingers together, pulling close. Kent looked around for a moment before leaning down, kissing Bitty gently.

In the end, Bitty checked out a romance novel for Kent, something with pirates and goodness knew what else in it. He picked up the next book in a series he’d been reading. They spent their evening sitting on the creaky porch swing, drinking iced tea and reading until the sun began to set, streaking the sky with color. Kent pushed one bare foot lazily against the porch, rocking the swing as he stared at the sky.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Bitty said, voice soft.

“Me too,” Kent said. He glanced at Bitty. “You should come see me before school starts.”

“In Vegas?”

“Well, yeah, Eric. I live there.” Kent ruffled Bitty’s hair with one hand.

Kent’s phone chirped with a text alert as they were getting ready for bed. Picking it up, Kent frowned. He tapped out a quick message.

“Everything okay?” Bitty asked, settling onto his mattress.

“Yeah, just -- Swoops texted, he’s going to check on Kit for me. Sounds like he had a bad day.” Kent sent a second message.

Bitty tilted his head. “Y’all wanna watch cartoons?” Kent and Swoops -- _Jeff_ , whatever, Bitty never knew how to refer to him -- always watched cartoons after a loss, he remembered Kent mentioning it.

Kent sat next to him on the bed. “You don’t mind?”

“No, it’s fine,” Bitty said. “Plus, I know you want to see Kit. It’ll work out great, right?”

Laughing, Kent wormed his way under Bitty’s covers. “Yeah, no, you’re right.”

A bit later, Kent and Bitty were tucked into the covers with Bitty’s laptop balanced on their legs. Jeff, on the other side, was on Kent’s couch. Kit kept putting her face up to the computer, and Kent was delighted every time she came into view, wiggling his fingers at her and grinning.

“She misses me!” he insisted.

“Yeah, I know,” Jeff said as Kit wormed her way into his lap. “It’s annoying.”

Bitty waved his fingers at the camera, too. “Hi, Kit,” he murmured. “Remember me?”

Kit blinked at the computer before meowing loudly.

“She loves you,” Kent said, tone confident.

“All right, let’s do this,” Jeff said. “We’re watching _Darkwing Duck_ , ’cause it’s my turn to pick.”

“Turns start over with every season!” Kent protested. “That’s not fair!”

“Like you’re gonna pick something besides DW?” Jeff laughed. “Please.”

“That’s fair,” Bitty said. Kent loved _Darkwing Duck_.

“Don’t -- oh my god, you’re ganging up on me.” Kent groaned. “This is my life. These are my choices.”

“I’m pushing play,” Jeff said.

Kent shifted a little, sinking down in the bed so that he could lean his head against Bitty’s shoulder. On screen, Kit settled into Jeff’s lap.

Despite the banter beforehand, all of them were relatively quiet as the cartoon started. Kent hummed along to the theme tune for the first episode or two before he, too, fell into silence.

Kent’s head on Bitty’s shoulder gradually felt heavier. At the end of the episode, Bitty turned to look down. “Baby, I -- oh,” he said. Kent was asleep.

“He fell asleep a little while ago,” Jeff said.

“This boy,” Bitty sighed. He looked at the clock. “Gosh, well. It’s late here, I’m sure he’s tired.” He smiled.

“So, uh -- how’s it going?” Jeff asked. “Good? You take him to church?”

Bitty laughed a little. “Yeah, yeah -- everything’s great. I took him to church.” Glancing down at Kent again, he shook his head. “I tried to show him everything interesting in Madison, but it’s a small town, you know?”

Jeff smiled softly. “Yeah. Cool, cool. Uh -- listen, Eric, I just wanna say thanks, you know. For being good to my boy.”

 _My boy_. “It’s not hard,” Bitty said.

Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.” Kit bumped her head along the edge of the laptop. “All right, I gotta go. You guys get some sleep, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, “I’ll take care of this.” He smiled. “It was nice watching TV with you.”

“Yeah, man. I’ll tell him to ask you on roadies.”

“Okay,” Bitty said. “Good night, Jeff.”

Jeff smiled that same small smile. “G’night, Eric.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for how long this one took! I was busy with Real Life (tm) things, and I know this one is... well, a bit boring. The next update shouldn't take that long! And I promise it won't be so boring! Thanks for sticking around.  
> Kent's ["y'all means all" shirt](http://thecrybabyclub.com/yall-blurb-sleeveless-tee/) is real! Actually, a lot of the clothes I'm putting him in are totally real. Who cares? I dunno. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much rhysiana & piesnpucks -- you gals are excellent. I appreciate you.
> 
> Is _everyone_ in love with Kent Parson?  
>  No. No they're not. 
> 
> But several people might be. And yet? I think we're all familiar with the concept of unrequited love.


	26. it's like moving mountains

Bitty drove Kent to the airport in the afternoon. Kent alternated between lacing their fingers together and letting his hand rest on Bitty’s thigh. After a week together, sending Kent away felt heavy and cold. Bitty chewed his lower lip as he drove, eyes on the road.

“Eric,” Kent said, once they’d been driving for a half hour. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Bitty glanced over. “Oh! Yeah! No, I’m fine. I’m just -- I was just thinking.”

Kent squeezed Bitty’s thigh. “You gonna miss me?” he asked, teasing.

“Are  _ you _ gonna miss  _ me _ ?” 

“Desperately,” Kent said.

“If I’m gonna come see you before school, it’ll be pretty soon,” Bitty said. “I go back at the beginning of August. It’d just be, I dunno. A week or two from now.”

“Mm.” Kent looked out the window. “You don’t have to. It’s hectic, I guess.”

They wouldn’t really be able to see each other much once Kent’s season started. It was possible to swing visits during Kent’s East Coast games, but only if Bitty’s games  _ and _ school schedule worked well with them. Even if he just went for a weekend, it would probably be worth it to see Kent one more time before they both got so busy. Wouldn’t it? “Let’s make it a weekend,” Bitty suggested. “Just before school starts. Yeah?”

Kent glanced at him. “That’s a lot of traveling,” he said.

“Worth it, sweet pea,” Bitty said.

Kent laced their fingers together.

They shared a final, lingering kiss in the truck before heading into the airport. Bitty managed to keep it together while Kent went through security, smiling every time he saw Kent swivel to look back at him again. Once he’d disappeared from sight, Bitty turned to leave, drawing in a ragged breath. He made it back to the truck before any tears fell, thank goodness. It took a little time before he felt ready to leave the parking lot.

His truck felt empty all the way home. By the time he reached Madison, Bitty was sure: even one weekend in Vegas would be worth the hassle of traveling so much. When Kent called that evening, Bitty answered with “The thirty-first.”

“What?” Kent laughed. “The thirty-first what?”

“July thirty-first,” Bitty said. “It’s the last Friday before I have to be at school.”

“Oh,” Kent said, “that. Yeah, I know. I looked it up already. Hello to you, too.”

_ This boy. _ Of course he had. “Well, I just -- I thought, you know, I know it’s a lot of traveling, but I don’t know when I’ll see you again, so if it’s, um. If it’s not too much trouble --”

“You wanna fly first class or not?”

Bitty arrived mid-afternoon that Friday, a bit jetlagged but happy. Kent picked him up from the airport, but because they were in  _ Vegas _ , his greeting was much less… exuberant than it was in Georgia. In fact, they didn’t really touch at all until they were safely hidden in Kent’s house. The garage door closed behind them as Kent turned the key in the ignition, shutting the car off. 

Bitty took a breath. “Well --”

Kent’s fingers slid around the back of Bitty’s neck, pulling him close.

When they finally parted some time later, both breathless, Bitty laughed. Where had his shorts even  _ gotten _ to? “Lord,” he said, twisting around to look for them. “I guess you missed me.”

“Welcome to Vegas?” Kent laughed, too, pulling his shirt back on. “C’mon. It’s hot in here.” Exiting the car, he took Bitty’s bag and opened the back door. Kit met them in the kitchen, curling around Bitty’s ankles. 

Dinner was mustard chicken and roasted vegetables, nothing terribly fancy -- but it was the first time Kent had really cooked for Bitty, and it felt special. He listened to the pop music station Bitty and Jack had listened to the last time Bitty was in Kent’s kitchen, humming along as he worked. Because of his habit of meal prepping, it didn’t take long to put things together, and Bitty knew it was a simple recipe Kent used a lot. Still, standing together in the kitchen, talking about school and hockey and the last weeks of summer, he felt a warm sense of  _ rightness _ settle over him. 

Curling up on the sofa after dinner, Bitty tucked his head under Kent’s chin as they watched  _ Seinfeld. _

“I can’t believe you like this show,” Bitty said. “It’s about nothing!”

“That’s the point,” Kent said, idly running his fingers back and forth along Bitty’s forearm. “It’s a show about nothing. It’s funny.”

“There’s funnier shows, baby,” Bitty said.

“Yeah, but I get sleepy watching this one and I want to go to bed soon,” Kent said.

“Oh,” said Bitty, pushing away from Kent’s chest, “you have to be  _ sleepy _ before we go to bed?”

“Why, you have something else in mind?” Kent laughed. “Is this about to be a strenuous activity? Should we have eaten?”

“We can wait thirty minutes,” Bitty said. “I don’t want you getting a cramp.”

They slept curled together in Kent’s massive bed, a tangle of arms and legs and cat. Bitty, tired from the time difference and travel, slept deeply. Hours later, the horrid screech of a phone alarm dragged him into wakefulness. 

Kent’s alarm was irritating as all get out. Bitty rolled over and poked Kent in the ribs. “Baby,” he said. “Baby. Turn that _ off. _ ”

“Mmm.” Kent stretched and then curled around Bitty again. “I’m up.” The alarm was still blaring.

“ _ Sweet pea _ ,” Bitty said, a little louder this time. “I love you, but if you don’t turn that off right now I swear, I --”

Kent reached an arm over and turned it off, but really… Bitty was already wide awake. Sitting up, he stretched an arm over his head for a moment. It was still pitch dark in Kent’s room. “You want me to make coffee?” Bitty asked. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Kent’s neck.

“Mmm.” Kent’s eyes still weren’t open. “Yes. I’m up, I said. I’m up.”

Sliding out of bed, Bitty grabbed one of Kent’s old, soft button-down shirts out of the closet, pulling it on before leaving the bedroom. The early morning sun was filtering in through the large windows, painting warmth over everything. Kit followed him out, mewling.

Kent didn’t drink enough coffee to use a pot, and he had an entirely too long list of reasons why he hated Keurigs -- but he’d left a french press out next to the stove, ready to use. Bitty dumped ground coffee into the press and put the kettle on to boil. Leaning on the counter, he stretched before opening a cabinet, looking for mugs.

Kent’s favorite Harry Potter mug soon sat next to a Hockey Hall of Fame mug, both ready and waiting for hot coffee. Bitty added sugar to the bottom of his cup just as the water started to boil. Pouring it over the grounds, he set a timer and waited. Kent would be getting dressed to go running before coming down, which left Bitty plenty of time to wake up in the kitchen on his own.

He’d just turned around, mug of coffee in hand, when Jeff Troy walked into the kitchen. 

“Oh my  _ lord _ !” Bitty yelped.

“Oh,” Jeff stared at him. “I forgot you were coming.”

“Well -- here I am,” Bitty said. He was standing in Kent’s kitchen in nothing but Kent’s shirt, and as Jeff stared at him, Bitty flushed. His hand tightened around the mug as he resisted the urge to tug the hem of the shirt a little lower. “I didn’t realize you would be coming over this early.”

Kent slid into the kitchen, a bit breathless. “Babe, you okay?” He went to Bitty immediately. “I thought I hear-- oh, hey, Swoops.” 

“I’m fine,” Bitty said. He held out the mug of coffee. “Here, honey.”

“God, I love you,” Kent said, taking it and drinking deeply. 

“Hey,” Jeff said. He glanced at Bitty again. “Was I not supposed to come today?”

“What? No.” Kent took another drink of coffee. “Why? We gotta --” he checked his phone. “We gotta run like, five miles. And it’s only getting hotter, so…”

“Right,” Jeff said. “Do we  _ have _ to do this outside? ’Cause I think, y’know, under the circumstances, that running on a treadmill would be better --”

“I hate the treadmill,” Kent protested. 

Jeff sighed heavily.

After drinking a bit more of his coffee, Kent leaned in to kiss Bitty, curving an arm around his waist. “See you in an hour?” he said.

“I’m going to spend the entire hour in your shower,” Bitty said.

“Don’t,” Kent said, and pouted. “I want to shower with you.”

Jeff coughed. “Guys,” he said. “C’mon.”

“All right, all right,” Kent said. He disentangled from Bitty.

Jeff and Kent were gone for an hour -- precisely. Bitty played with Kit, drank some coffee, and picked up Kent’s mail. There was a little mail pile on the kitchen counter, and when Bitty carried his mail over, he noticed an opened letter from Empire State College lying on top. He wasn’t trying to look, but -- why would Kent have a letter from a college? Frowning, he picked it up.

_ Dear Mr. Parson, _

_ We are pleased to inform you of your admission to SUNY Empire State College for the fall of 2015... _

Bitty blinked. Kent hadn’t told him he was applying for school. When would he even have  _ time _ for schoolwork? Bitty set the letter down, chewing on his lower lip. He really shouldn’t be snooping, but -- well, he couldn’t help it! It was  _ right there _ ! 

By the time Jeff and Kent returned from their run, both red-cheeked and sweaty, Bitty had managed to put on a few more articles of clothing. Kent came through the door first, tossing his phone aside and heading straight for the faucet in the kitchen.

“Good run?” Bitty asked. He had biscuits in the oven.

“Hot,” said Jeff.

Kent came back into the living room, already shirtless. “Are you baking?” he asked. “Already? Because I’m  _ starving _ and it smells like bread.”

“Biscuits,” Bitty said. “They’ll be done soon. D’you want to shower first and then eat?”

“No,” Kent said.

“I’m gonna go,” said Jeff. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Kent glanced at him. “Yeah, man. I’ll see you later.”

They ended up spending quite a lot of time in the shower.

“I, um. I brought your mail in,” Bitty said, tugging his shorts on.

“Thanks,” said Kent, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “Nothing interesting, I bet?”

“Not as interesting as the letter from Empire State College,” Bitty said. He hung his towel on the rod and turned back to face Kent. “When were you gonna tell me, honey?”

“Oh,” said Kent, “that. Yeah, it’s no big deal. It’s just online school. I didn’t think it was important.”

“Not a big -- sweetheart! It’s great! I can’t believe you didn’t say anything!” Bitty paused, looking at Kent. He was putting moisturizer on his face, spreading it gently over summer freckles, not even looking into Bitty’s direction. “Honey,” Bitty said. 

“Mm?” Kent still wasn’t looking.

“Kent Valeray  _ Parson _ ,” Bitty said.

Kent turned to look at Bitty, finally, sliding his glasses back onto his face. “Yes, Eric Richard Bittle, apple of my eye, love of my life?”

Oh. Bitty flushed. “I just -- I’m proud of you, but I wish you’d told me,” he said. It was SUNY. It seemed like a big deal, some kind of rite of passage. How could Kent say it wasn’t important? “What’s your major?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Kent repeated. “You’re in school. Jeff went to school. Lots of people go to school.” He waved a hand. “It’s just -- it’s fine. I don’t even, you know. I don’t know if I’m gonna be good at it or anything. So, um.” He swallowed. “Yeah. It’s math.”

Bitty smiled. “You’re gonna do great, baby,” he said. “You love math.”

“I love you,” Kent said. “Can we talk about something else?” 

Kent watered his succulents and played with his cat and convinced Eric to change the oil in his car just so he could hang around and watch him do it. They went to Downtown Summerlin, wandering around and looking at things, careful not to touch each other. They tried on clothes and had fancy coffee and Kent found an adorable little pink succulent to add to his collection.

“I know it’s maybe, um. Risky, or whatever,” Kent said, as they got back in the car, “but I reserved a table tonight, just in case.”

“Oh?” Bitty looked up from the little pink succulent in his hands. 

“I wanted to take you to Joël Robuchon,” Kent said. “If you want. I’ve never been there, but it’s supposed to be amazing.” 

“I --” Joël Robuchon? As in the  _ Chef of the Century _ ? Good lord. Bitty didn’t even know what to  _ say _ . Of course he knew there were celebrity chef restaurants in Vegas -- who didn’t? He just hadn’t expected something so public during this visit.

Kent would be recognized. Wouldn’t he? Which would put Bitty’s face in photos that Kent’s fans would see. No matter what, they’d look like they were having a romantic dinner in a place like that. It wasn’t just a chill place one took a friend. And if they went there alone? Bitty tightened his hands on the little succulent’s pot.

Kent tilted his head, watching Bitty’s face. After a moment, he pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’ll cancel it,” he said. He started the car. 

“I’m sorry,” Bitty said.

Kent shook his head. “It’s not your fault,” he said.

They had dinner at the house. Kent liked cooking, and he set the plate in front of Bitty with a hopeful sort of pride. He’d made something from his grandmother’s cookbook, French food to make up for not going out. Bitty wound their ankles together under Kent’s table, allowed himself to give in to every urge he had to touch him.

Sunday was rest day when Kent had anything to say about it -- always. Kent’s alarm went off later, and he went down to make the coffee himself, bringing Bitty’s cup back up to the bedroom for him.

“You don’t have to go with me,” Kent said, like they hadn’t already had this conversation. Setting his coffee aside, he moved to the closet, picking out his suit for mass.

“I want to go,” Bitty said. “I brought clothes just for this!” He wormed his way out of the sheets.

A tender smile curved the corner of Kent’s mouth, warmed the grey of his eyes. “All right, sunshine,” he said. He shrugged into his jacket. “We’re leaving in thirty minutes, I’m singing today.”

The church Kent attended in Las Vegas was very different from the one they’d gone to in Madison. It was large and light and filled with color from brilliant paintings and deeply tinted stained glass. Kent left Bitty in a pew near the choir, disappearing for a bit. Bitty stared at the beautiful stained windows and flipped through the book to find the pages that would tell him what he was supposed to do.

Bitty followed the directions in the book and tried to pick Kent’s voice out in the blended sound of the choir. Kent sang the psalm by himself, voice clear and perfect, returning to Bitty’s side in the pew only after the priest began to give his sermon. Sliding in next to Bitty, Kent laid his arm across the back of the pew. This time, Bitty was prepared for the sign of the peace, wrapping his arms around Kent first.

Jeff didn’t arrive until after Kent and Bitty were home from mass. Bitty had just changed into shorts and a light shirt when he heard a clatter from downstairs.

“It’s just me!” Jeff called. The clattering continued. A few minutes later, a thin dog came into Kent’s room, nosing at Kit’s sleeping form on the bed before turning to investigate Bitty.

“Hi, Kevin,” Kent said. He poked his head out the bedroom door. “Swoops! Did you bring food?”

“This dog is a girl,” Bitty said, patting her head gently.

“Yeah, I know,” Kent said. “Her name is Kevin, anyway. Don’t ask me.”

“I was thinking,” Kent said, as they sat down at the table to open the containers of Thai food Jeff had provided, “you’d like to go to a show, right? Like… Cirque du Soleil, or something?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “There’s a lot of those here, right?” 

“I can go if it’s tonight,” Jeff said. “I’ll be your beard or whatever. Pass me that rice, Eric.”

“That’s not how beards work, Swoops,” Kent said.

Bitty laughed as he handed over the carton of rice. “Why not? It’ll be fun!” Jeff was nice. Nicer than Bitty had realized at first. 

“Yeah,” said Kent, “okay. Which one?”

“The Beatles one!” Jeff put a large piece of chicken in his mouth.

The three of them went to the show together, taking ridiculous selfies in the multicolored entrance. The show was brilliant and colorful and, sitting in between Kent and Jeff, Bitty could hear Jeff sing along to most of the songs. He couldn’t hold Kent’s hand, but since they were going home together at the end of the night, that didn’t bother Bitty too much. Some of the more… acrobatic poses gave him ideas, as a matter of fact.

When Bitty boarded his flight the next morning, tired from lack of sleep, he tried not to think about how long it would be before he saw Kent in person again. He fell asleep on the plane, only waking up when it landed. As he got into the Uber back to Samwell, Bitty sighed. All of his things were already at Samwell -- he’d dropped them off ahead of his trip to Vegas, which meant all he had to do was get back to school and unpack.

Summer was well and truly over.

Hockey practice soon took up a lot of Bitty’s time, but it was comforting to be back in the Haus with the team again. Once classes started, both he and Kent were busy -- some nights they sat on Skype together, doing homework. Bitty liked to listen to Kent talk through readings he’d done, especially since Kent was taking core classes Bitty had already done, which meant the material was familiar. The sheer mass of schoolwork -- both his and Kent's -- combined with an increase in his on-ice time during practice meant that Bitty was extraordinarily busy. September flew by, and Bitty missed Jack counting his pies for him. That didn't stop the rest of the team from devouring them.

They went to a preseason match in Providence, Jack’s very first NHL game. All of Samwell Men’s Hockey was excited, and walking up to see giant promotional photos of Jack with his teammates brought butterflies flaring to life in Bitty’s stomach. They all cheered for Jack with as much volume and enthusiasm as they could muster, making their little section of the stands incredibly loud. 

Kent was in preseason games, too. There was an oddity in hearing so much about one team from Kent and so much about another from Jack. The Aces were looking good, and Bitty was pleased to hear that Jeff was back on Kent’s line. And seeing Jack in a real uniform, playing actual NHL hockey? It was awe-inspiring. How had Bitty wound up with a life so close to professional hockey?

“It’s just weird, you know?” he said to Kent one night, both of them in bed with their laptops open. “Not having Jack here, I mean. Shitty, too. I got so used to them. Having Chowder across the hall isn’t bad at all, it’s just… so different.”

“Well, um. Providence isn’t that far away, right?” said Kent.

“It’s not bad, no,” Bitty said. “I mean the train’s pretty easy to take and stuff, and it’s not a bad drive at all.”

“D’you ever, um. Do you ever think about visiting Jack?”

Bitty looked up at the screen, wanting to get a good look at Kent’s face. He  _ never _ suggested anything when it came to Jack. In fact, Bitty was basically the only one who ever mentioned Jack at all. “Why?” he asked.

Kent shrugged. “You miss him,” he said, eyes warm behind his glasses. 

It was true. Bitty sighed. “I do miss him,” he admitted. “Not like I miss  _ you _ , but --”

“You don’t have to avoid Jack because of me,” Kent said. “Not that, um. Not that you’re specifically doing that, but. If you were, I mean. I don’t want to --” he broke off, letting out a frustrated sigh. Running a hand through his hair, Kent chewed on his lower lip for a minute. “Look, I just mean if seeing Jack would make you happy, then I think you should go visit him. That’s all.”

“All right, baby,” Bitty said. “I’ll think about it, okay? Just -- would it be weird, me visiting Jack and calling you?”

“Oh,” said Kent, “I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ll just have to deal with it if it is.”

“Probably not,” Kent said, after a moment. “We talk on the phone sometimes. Not a lot, but -- not, you know. None.” He paused. “And it’s not like he doesn’t know, I mean. About us.”

“Right.” Bitty cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad y’all’re getting along.”

“Something like that,” Kent muttered. He begged off the call not long after, citing early morning practice and homework.

Their chats were cut short fairly regularly by both their schedules -- sometimes Kent fell asleep with the computer still on, and sometimes Bitty did. They still read  _ Harry Potter _ , although sessions were cut short by Kent’s classwork more than anything. Still, Kent was always interested in hearing about Bitty’s day, even if he  _ did _ manage to constantly change the subject when it came to Jack Zimmermann.

It was difficult to change the subject off Jack when he was the biggest news of Bitty’s day, though. “Oh, and baby! We’re so lucky! Jack  _ and  _ Shitty are planning on coming to one of our first home games!” Bitty said one night, hugging Señor Bun to his chest.

“That’s great,” Kent said, stretching an arm up and over his head, tugging on the elbow with a gentle hand. “I’m jealous.”

“You sweet thing,” Bitty said. “I wish you could come, too. But I know y’all have all those preseason games and you know you’ll be real busy, and I know it’s not for lack of wanting to be there for me.” 

“I like watching you play,” Kent said.

The game Jack and Shitty attended was followed, of course, by a kegster at the Haus. Even though Ransom had promised to try and keep it chill, having both Shitty and Jack back in the Haus gave everything a bit more excitement. It wasn’t quite like old times, hearing Shitty talk about law school, and both Jack and Bitty took a small window of opportunity to escape upstairs to talk.

Sitting on his bed, Bitty held his phone in his lap while Jack leaned against his desk. 

“You looked good out there,” Jack said. “You’re really starting to protect the puck.”

Bitty laughed.

“Don’t think I didn’t catch that check of yours second period,” Jack continued.

“Check!” Bitty laughed some more. His phone vibrated in his hand and he looked down at it. Kent, of course, answering Bitty’s message about Jack and Shitty being at the party. “Well --” looking back up at Jack, he grinned. “I had a wonderful coach for that.”

Jack smiled. “Yeah? I heard he was really hard on you.”

“He was! But he knew what was good for me.” Bitty’s phone vibrated again and he checked the message. “Kent says hi,” he said, reading the screen.

“Yeah? I, um. I say hi, too,” Jack said. “How’s he doing?”

After relaying Jack’s greeting, Bitty looked up again. “He’s good,” he said. “He’s allowed to play and all. He only had to go back to the hospital that one time -- I’m sure you know about that, though -- and he’s been okay since then. Everything seems fine now, and he’s just getting ready for the season. Like you.” His phone vibrated again. “Oh -- and he says they’re gonna kick y’all’s asses.”

Jack laughed. “Right. Of course he does.” He paused. “Did you tell Kenny about your check?”

_ Kenny.  _ Bitty laughed again. “It was just a little  _ shove _ !” he protested. “Nothing that big --”

“I remember when you were a frog, Bittle,” Jack said, his grin widening. “You’d faint if someone said they were coming at you. Ah -- tell him about your pass to Rans, too, the one that tied it up?”

Bitty shook his head. “You charmer,” he said. “Stop that. Trying to win me over by complimenting my hockey, are you?”

Jack’s face was very still for a moment, and Bitty’s stomach tightened. He’d only been teasing, but maybe it was in poor taste. His phone vibrated again, the buzz of it loud in the silence. “We should get back downstairs,” Jack said.

“Right,” Bitty said. “Of course. After you.”

As they stepped out of Bitty’s room, both of them could hear Shitty regaling people with tales of law school. Jack headed downstairs first, as instructed. 

“All right, everyone,” he said, reaching the bottom, “you guys played great. It was fun. But I gotta head out --”

“Ha --  _ brah _ ,” Shitty said, turning around, “not before you tell us about your  _ girlfriend _ .”

Jack laughed. “What? Shits, I’m not dating -- I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said.

“Oh, really?!” Shitty was undeterred. “What about the texting? And all the  **smiling** ? And -- and the ‘Shitty, you can’t sleep over on Thursday because I’m having a ‘friend’ over for dinner’?!” His face was a bit red. “You don’t have any other friends!”

Bitty winced. He was probably the  _ friend _ in question. Ever since Kent had suggested he visit Jack, Bitty had allowed himself to text and visit as much as they both wanted. It was… maybe more frequent than he’d realized it would be, but  _ still _ . It wasn’t like he didn’t Skype Kent from Jack’s apartment.

“Law school happy hours made you weak,” Lardo said, putting a hand on Shitty’s shoulder. “You’re sloshed off half a cup of tub juice.”

Shitty glanced at her, and then back to Jack. “I just really miss you guys,” he said, pulling them both in for hugs.

When Jack was gone, Bitty ruminated on what Shitty had said. He and Jack did text a lot, and he knew he’d visited frequently. Did it really seem like Jack was dating someone? Apparently he hadn’t told Shitty that Bitty was coming over. Was Bitty some kind of secret? And if he was… What did that  _ mean _ ?

The questions stayed on Bitty’s mind the rest of the night, carrying over into the kegster cleanup. Ransom and Holster had their own theories about Shitty’s accusations, and Bitty decided not to mention any of it to Kent. 

As Bitty’s school and hockey schedules got busier and Jack’s games went on the road, they didn’t see each other as much as they had been. When he did visit Jack, Bitty put Kent on Skype as often as possible, sometimes enjoying the bickering that would ensue between Jack and Kent when he asked for help with French. Providence took to the road and soon Bitty found himself juggling two sets of phone calls and texts.

He found he didn’t mind, and the occasions when Jack and Kent interacted via Bitty’s laptop warmed with time, losing the anxious edge they’d held in the beginning. They seemed to integrate into a strange little triangle after a while, Bitty visiting Jack and still keeping his time with Kent unchanged. He wasn’t sure how much Jack and Kent were speaking when he wasn’t there as a middleman, but it seemed… better. Less strained.

Coming home to the Haus after an away game in late October, Bitty called Kent after crawling into bed. They’d lost the game, but the bus ride home was as lively as ever. Somehow, Ransom and Nursey had pulled an argument out of groupchat and into reality. “So everyone was arguing about who’s the hottest in the NHL,” Bitty said. “And of course I said you, but --”

“Babe, obviously,” Kent said. “But thanks.”

Bitty laughed. “Right, okay. Anyway, Shitty was on the groupchat saying that Jack’s the hottest guy in the NHL, and Ransom said it’s Mashkov. And for some reason Nursey said it’s Zetterberg, which? Surprised everyone? Because --”

“They all have good points,” Kent said. “But, you know. There’s decent ass on like, every single team. At least  _ one _ guy on each team I’d have a threeway with. Probably. And --”

“Oh, yeah? Who’s the hottest on the Aces, then?” 

“Babe,” Kent said, again. “ _ Obviously _ .” He gestured at his torso. “No debate.”

“You can’t pick  _ yourself _ !” Bitty laughed. “You have to pick someone besides you, we can’t have a threeway with just me and you. That’s only two people.”

“We could if there was two of me,” Kent said, smirking.

“There’s not,” Bitty said. “Come on. I think --”

The discussion devolved into a player-by-player analysis of the Aces. In the end, Bitty picked Jeff. He was tall and good looking and he’d seemed nice. He was a good choice.

“You can’t pick Jeff,” Kent said. “Jeff’s straight.”

“Oh,” said Bitty. “Is he?” 

“Yeah, he totally goes through, like. A blonde woman per city when we’re on the road,” Kent said.

“Right,” Bitty said. A blonde woman. Per city.

After Bitty shook himself out of his reflections on Jeff, he realized that Kent had moved on to naming his favorites from other teams in the League. Bitty nodded his way through the rest of the Western Conference, giving his own answers and laughing as several of their answers matched, but when they got to Providence, they both paused.

“I’m saying Jack,” Bitty said, “because of his ass.”

“That is a fair point,” Kent said slowly, “but I was going to say Alexei. Because it’s  _ Jack _ and there is no threeway on this Earth with Jack Zimmermann that wouldn’t end with me crying in the bathroom at three in the morning.” He brightened after a moment. “Oh! Or their goalie. I bet you six bucks he’d go for it.”

Bitty laughed, but he wasn’t ignoring Kent’s statement about Jack.

“Would you?”

“What?” Kent moved Kit off his lap.

“Have a threeway,” Bitty said. “I mean, for real.”

“Uh --” Kent glanced back up at the camera. “I would at least consider it, if that’s what you wanted.” He paused. “Do you?”

“Uh --” Bitty felt his face heating.

“Oh my god,” Kent said, “you  _ totally _ do.”

“I --”

“With  _ who _ ?”

“I don’t know!” Bitty’s face felt like it was on fire. “I don’t want you to cry in the bathroom at three in the morning!”

“Oh,” said Kent. He rubbed his upper arm with one hand. “Right. Well, I don’t, uh. I don’t think he’d want to, anyway.”

“I think you’re wrong about that,” Bitty said, keeping his tone light. “But if you’d rather bet me six bucks and ask their goalie, I’ll let you.” He smiled.

Kent chewed his lower lip for a minute, saying nothing. As the silence lengthened, Bitty swallowed, beginning to regret saying anything at all. “I, um --”

“I’ll think about it,” Kent said.

“What?”

“I’ll think about it,” said Kent, again. “If that’s what you want.”

  
He did always try so hard to give Bitty whatever he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, this one got long. Sorry y'all.  
> I've been told that this fic is a soap opera. Sorry again.
> 
> Thank you so much rhysiana & piesnpucks. As usual. I know I thank y'all every time but I appreciate your help so much.


	27. i know if i'm haunting you, you must be haunting me

When Kent answered Bitty’s call the next night, he was tired, rubbing his eyes and giving Bitty short answers to questions. He remained subdued as Bitty chattered about his day -- clearly paying attention, but not as engaged as usual. He read _Harry Potter_ to Bitty in a soft voice, reading a bit less than normal before begging off. Bitty suggested he take a bath before going to sleep.

Neither of them mentioned their previous conversation.

After they’d said goodnight and hung up, Bitty stared up at his ceiling, thinking. _If that’s what you want_ , Kent said. _Was_ that what he wanted? He’d dreamed about it a couple of times -- hot, enticing dreams. But if Kent said yes, would it be because he actually wanted to or just because _Bitty_ wanted to? Those were very different things.

Kent and Jack were at least on friendly terms. They spoke -- or texted -- about once a week, from the sound of it. Kent had stopped having that tightness in his shoulders or voice when Bitty mentioned Jack. The Skype calls from Providence during Bitty’s visits felt much warmer than before, less stilted. But they’d still never talked about how Kent really _felt_ about Jack, nor about anything that had happened between them, and Bitty had no idea how to broach the subject.

The following two weeks were busy enough that he didn’t even want to. Kent had a string of home games before a long road trip, and he was trying to get ahead in his classes before traveling. He was much more conscientious about his homework than Bitty was, even if Jeff _did_ help him with his papers more than he should have.

They texted sometimes, Bitty and Jeff, their friendship still new. Jeff was nothing but nice, funny, and relatable in his texts. He almost always spent time with Kent when Bitty was in Providence visiting Jack. Usually, Jeff left a little while into a video call, leaving Kent and Bitty to talk without him, but he hung around a little longer as time went on. On roadies, especially if the Aces lost, Jeff was _always_ around to watch cartoons with Kent at night. Bitty was getting fond of watching _Darkwing Duck_ with both of them, despite Kent's bad habit of falling asleep in the middle of an episode. Watching Jeff toss covers over him and turn lights off burned a little in the back of Bitty’s throat.

Las Vegas would be playing Providence during the upcoming string of games. Providence was so close to Samwell that it should have meant a visit for Kent and Bitty, but it was a weeknight game and they both had a ton of homework, so they’d agreed to hold off until Kent’s bye week -- not that either of them was happy about it. Kent swore that he’d come to Samwell for his bye week, no matter what kind of shenanigans he had to pull off to avoid the media, school be damned. Still, Bitty had to admit that being in the same time zone during the roadie would make a world of difference. It was so hard to stay awake for West Coast games!

The Aces needed a little extra time to get from an away game in California to Providence, so they’d arrived a day early. Kent had talked about filming a duet with Alexei while there, since he wouldn’t be able to see Bitty. They’d decided it would be fun to play something together, and Kent practiced the song in advance. They wouldn’t have a lot of time, so it’d have to be done in a single evening. After seeing so much of Alexei on _Falcs TV_ and hearing about him from Jack, Bitty thought of him as a warm and effusive person. It would probably be good for Kent to spend a little time with him, away from the stress of the season and his schoolwork.

The video went up on both Kent and Alexei’s channels late at night. They covered Beyoncé’s _Sweet Dreams_ \-- and Kent had to have picked it, because he knew how much Bitty loved Beyoncé. He sang while Alexei played piano, and it was the first song on the channel that didn’t feature Kent’s guitar. Bitty had assumed the video would be filmed in Alexei’s, but when he pressed play he found himself looking at a stage. The video didn’t show either performer’s face, and Kent sat on a stool next to a baby grand piano while the camera focused on the pianist’s hands. Where on Earth were they?

Wherever it was, the acoustics were incredible. It was an almost angelic cover -- slow and sweet and perfect. Kent was in jeans and a soft blue sweater and he moved his hands sometimes when singing, something Bitty supposed he’d never realized because he’d only really seen him sing with a guitar. His voice was pure and clear, sweeter when he wasn’t focused on anything but singing. The lighting was warm and Alexei’s hands moved across the keys, gentle and easy.

The video had a lot of views by the time Bitty saw it, and commenters begged for more collaborations. Kent answered a few comments with vague statements that sounded like he had more collaborative videos planned, but always with the reminder that they were a lot of work. This one had incredible sound quality, and the filming was clearer than Kent’s usual. He’d really worked hard on it -- the editing was perfect. No doubt it was a nice distraction from everything else, and Bitty knew Kent needed distractions sometimes.

The hockey game the next day was intense. Both Kent and Jack had faced questions about how they were preparing to play each other, and the game turned out to be fast-paced and hectic. Commentators focused on the perceived rivalry between Jack and Kent, pointing out the differences in Jack’s game after his time at Samwell. Bitty watched it in the library with Lardo, and when Kent rushed the goalie at the end of the third to break a tie, ending up at the bottom of a pile, he thought he might throw up. What was he _thinking_? His helmet was off! The concussion wasn’t even that long ago!

Alexei took exception, too -- it was obvious even from television coverage as he grabbed the collar of Kent’s jersey. He was _yelling_ at Kent, furious, and when his teammates and the referees separated them, he didn’t seem much happier. Kent grabbed his helmet and returned to his own team’s bench as Providence questioned the call on the ice, but the end result was a Vegas win. The camera caught Kent’s satisfied smirk from the bench.

Bitty had originally encouraged Kent to see Jack while he was in Providence, but given how things had turned out… he doubted that would happen. Kent hadn’t mentioned it, and the Aces had to move on the next day. It was a good thing he’d filmed his video with Alexei the day before. When Bitty settled in his room at the Haus and turned on Skype that night, it was a surprise to see Jeff answer the call instead of Kent.

“Hey, Eric,” he said.

“Hi, Jeff,” Bitty said. Jeff and Bitty had formed a sort of keep-Kent-from-being-stupid alliance, both of them keeping their eye on him in their own way. Bitty appreciated his help, even if he _did_ question Jeff’s motives at times. “What, um. Where’s Kent?”

“He’ll be right here, I just didn’t want it to do that rollover thing ’cause he didn’t answer,” Jeff said. He paused. “Did you watch the game?”

Bitty almost laughed. _Did he watch the game?_ Please. “Yeah, of course I did! Lord, what _was_ that, there at the end? Kent knows better than that!”

Jeff sighed. “I wouldn’t ask him about it right away if I were you. He bit my head off in the dressing room. Then again, you know, maybe he’ll listen to you? So fuckin’ stupi-- _hey_ , Kent!” He turned away from the computer.

“Stop talking about me,” Kent said. He leaned over into view of the camera, rubbing his hair with a towel. “Hey, you.”

“Kent Valeray Parson,” Bitty said, “you know I love you, but that was absolutely unacceptable!”

“I love you, too,” Kent said. Jeff rolled his eyes in the background and Kent turned, glaring. “What?”

“I’m gonna make you wear a full cage next game,” Jeff said. “See if I don’t.” He leaned over, looking at the camera. “You tell him. I’m hungry.” He left, and Bitty heard the door open and then close again.

Looking back at the computer, Kent raised a brow. “Well?” he asked.

“I have a feeling that Jeff will make you wear it whether you want to or not,” Bitty said. “Bless him.” He leaned his chin in his hand. “Sweetheart, can you be careful? Please? Your helmet didn’t even stay on.”

Kent sighed and carried the laptop to the bed, setting it down while he slid under the covers. Balancing it on his lap, he leaned his head back against the bed. “I’ll be careful,” he said. “All right? I swear. I just, y’know. I wanted to win. I wasn’t trying to be --”

“A dick?” Bitty sighed. “I should’ve come down there,” he said.

Kent laughed. “Like that would’ve changed anything,” he said. “It’s more important for you to be at school, anyway, c’mon. We talked about this.”

“Yeah.” Bitty paused. “So, I guess you’re not seeing Jack, then?”

“Uh, no,” Kent said. He laughed. “I’m pretty sure Alexei is pissed at me, too. He called me a _rat_. So I’ll be getting the hell out of Providence without any more social outings, thanks.”

“I’m sure it’s just hockey,” Bitty said.

“Yeah.” Kent rubbed the back of his neck. “Just hockey.”

Bitty read that night, and Kent fell asleep before he’d finished.

The rest of the Aces’ East Coast road trip wasn’t nearly as exciting as the Providence game. They won more than they lost, something Kent was very happy about, and being in the same time zone meant that their nighttime calls could last a bit longer than normal. Bitty wasn’t looking forward to the later nights that Kent being home would mean, even if it _was_ nicer to see him cuddling with his cat and laughing more. He was always tired on roadies.

December was drawing closer all the time. Jack was coming for Hausgiving -- Bitty was cooking, of course, like the year before. He knew Kent was jealous, even though he’d laughed about it when Bitty told him as they talked about his plans for the menu. It was a shame Vegas was so far away; Bitty wished Kent could come, too. Since he didn’t care if Bitty’s friends knew they were dating, it wouldn’t have been a problem for him to come. It was the Aces’ schedule that kept him away.

“Nah, you’re gonna make sweet potato casserole,” Kent said.

“I’m telling you, you’d like _my_ sweet potato casserole,” Bitty insisted. “Honestly. You’d like _my_ Thanksgiving.”

“I don’t know.” Kent laughed. “You were wrong about the corn pudding, and --”

“Am I never gonna live down the corn pudding?” Bitty interrupted, knowing Kent just liked to tease him but rising to the bait anyway. “Lord. It was one thing! You liked _everything else_ on your whole plate!”

“Uh huh.” Kent was cooking, moving in and out of view. “I know, I know. I’m just holding out for our own little ties-only Thanksgiving.”

Bitty gasped. “Dirty!”

“Very,” Kent said.

It really was an incredible shame that he couldn’t come to Hausgiving.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Kent said the next night, toying with the edge of his sheet. He was snuggled into his bed, shirtless and sleepy, their call almost over.

“Sounds dangerous,” Bitty said.

“Come to Vegas,” Kent said, “when Providence plays here. You can talk to Jack. And I’ll -- we can try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you so much to rhysiana & piesnpucks for your edits. y'all are the best.
> 
> because 8tracks is sucking more & more, i have also [put the HH playlist onto playmoss](https://playmoss.com/en/zombi/playlist/hummingbird-heartbeat). did i already say that? i don't know. i can't trim chatter out of videos there, and it's in like... reverse chronological order, but hey. there it is.


	28. he's just like water

_We can try_. That’s what Kent said, though he’d laid the burden of talking to Jack about it entirely on Bitty’s doorstep. It made sense, given that Bitty could probably talk to Jack about it in person and, of the two of them, he had a better relationship with Jack. Still, it was sort of terrifying.

How on Earth was he supposed to just come right out and ask Jack if he wanted to go to bed with both of them?

Bitty’s visits to Providence felt different now. He was always watching Jack, trying to decide what his behavior meant. Was he interested? Would he _be_ interested? Hausgiving was rife with the stress of it, Bitty mulling over things Jack said or did to try and gauge his level of interest. Kent’s absence from the holiday meant he had extra time to focus on Jack and think about what he wanted to say, but in the end, he didn’t bring it up at all.

In fact, it took him half of December to bring it up during a visit. In between final exams, hockey games, and practice, Bitty had managed to convince himself that the only way to bring up the subject of a threesome with Jack was to just… go for it. He’d have to spit it out and hope for the best.

After all, he couldn’t think of a single graceful way to ask someone how they felt about having sex with their ex.

“So, um. Kent and I were talking the other day,” Bitty said, twisting his his hands together, “well, I guess it was a while ago, now. But some of the guys were talking about who was the hottest guy in the NHL, right, and obviously Shitty said you, but I told Kent about it and then we got on the subject of who we’d want to have a threeway with, and I said -- well, I said, I said you  -- anyway, and, um.” He took a breath. Lord. He’d just told Jack that he wanted to have sex with him. “Later he, he sort of said he might be interested? And I thought, you know, after the hospital and everything that you -- Lord, I’m so nervous.”

Jack was quiet.

Bitty took another breath, trying to pace himself. This was worse than he’d imagined. “I thought that you still had feelings for him, and I think you like me well enough, and so I thought that you might not... mind.”

“I might not _mind_ ,” Jack repeated.

“It’s just sex,” said Bitty, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew they weren’t true. It was never just sex with Kent, not ever.

“No, it isn’t,” said Jack.

“I’ll tell him you don’t want to,” said Bitty.

“I didn’t say that.”

Bitty stared at Jack, unsure of what to say. Did that mean he... did want to?

“Bittle,” said Jack, stepping closer. “You know I, um. You know I -- you know how I feel about you, right?”

“Not exactly,” said Bitty. He knew Jack… liked him. There was a tenderness between them that wasn’t mere friendship.

Jack sat down on his sofa. He was quiet for a long time, so quiet that the hum of his refrigerator was all Bitty could hear. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to be patient.

“What did you think we were doing?” Jack asked.

“Hanging out,” Bitty said, sitting down next to him. “I mean, I -- I like spending time with you, and, um. Kent noticed I missed you, so… I guess I didn’t really think about it? I mean, Shitty comes and visits you, too, so I guess I just thought it was normal.” He swallowed.

Jack turned to face him, sliding an arm slowly around his shoulders. “You know this isn’t the same.”

“I guess not,” Bitty said. His throat felt tight.

“I --” Jack swallowed. “I would be with you, if I could. Like he is.”

Bitty stared at him, eyes wide. How could he possibly respond to that?

When Jack leaned closer, Bitty sucked in a quick breath. _No._ That wasn’t what he was offering. This wasn’t an offer of Bitty without Kent. Putting a hand on Jack’s chest, he leaned back. “I can’t do this without him, Jack,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s not -- that’s not what I meant.”

Jack pulled back. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“I’m not going to sit here and pretend I haven’t thought about it, Bits,” Jack said. “Both of you. Either of you. And I can wait.”

Bitty’s face heated with a blush. “ _Oh_ ,” he said.

“It’s just --” Jack paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Bitty said.

“Is he?”

Bitty chewed on his lower lip. He didn’t actually know the answer to that. “He told me to talk to you,” he said, dodging the question just a little. “He said, um. He said that we could think about getting together when y’all play in Vegas.”

“Mm.” Jack looked at the television. “All right.”

They watched a documentary after that, curled together on the sofa. When Kent called, Bitty answered without moving out of Jack’s arms. Kent was getting ready for bed, moving around and brushing his teeth while Bitty talked about his day. Jack was falling asleep on his own sofa, but he perked up when Kent started reading. Kent’s voice was very soft when he said good night, even though Jack had gone to brush his teeth already.

“Honey,” Bitty said, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired,” Kent said.

“Are _we_ okay?” Bitty asked, after a minute of silence.

“Of course,” Kent said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby,” Bitty said.

It was the first time that Bitty didn’t sleep in Jack’s guest room.

Telling Kent that he’d spoken with Jack was another matter. The next night, once he was tucked into bed, Bitty took a deep breath. “So,” he said, settling his laptop more evenly on his lap, “I talked to Jack, like you said.”

Kent’s eyes immediately flicked up to Bitty’s, cool grey behind his glasses. He was finishing a math problem. “And?”

“And he -- um, he said he would be… interested.” Bitty flushed. “If you still are.”

“Ah.” Kent looked back down. Biting his lower lip, he wrote something down before setting his paper aside. “All right. They, um. They play us in like, a month.”

“The beginning of February,” Bitty said. “Right?”

“Yeah.” Kent shrugged. “Okay. I’ll get you out here.” He grinned a moment later. “I’m dying to see you, anyway. Can you stay two nights?”

Bitty laughed. “Let me look at my calendar.”

A week passed, buried in hockey and exams. Bitty hardly had time to think about Jack and the impending threesome -- February seemed a lifetime away. It was hard to keep track of what day it was, everything blurring into a smear of hockey and studying and baking and Kent.

“Mail, Bitty,” said Nursey, bringing in a little pile one Tuesday. “I think there’s something in there for Rans, too -- got a Canadian postmark.”

“Thank you,” Bitty said, taking the envelope with his name on it. The neat, tidy handwriting brought a smile to his face. Kent.

“Good mail?” Nursey asked.

“The best kind,” Bitty said. Tearing it open, he pulled out -- some paper? Bitty frowned. It looked like a print-out of something and, unfolding it, he forgot to breathe for a moment.

It was tickets. Tickets to the _Winter Classic_.

“Oh my _god_ !” Bitty stared at the paper in his hand. Why did he have _three_ of them? He knew the Aces were playing, but -- Lord, how much had that even _cost_? Feeling a bit lightheaded, he leaned on the kitchen counter.

“What?” Holster poked his head into the kitchen. “What? Who’s dying?”

“No, it’s -- I’m going to the Winter Classic,” Bitty said, still staring at the tickets.

Holster gasped. “You _dick_!”

“You weren’t kidding,” Nursey said.

“What?” Ransom appeared, as if summoned.

“Bitty’s going to the Winter fucking Classic!”

“Oh, _damn_!”

“How did you --”

“Well, um, I --” Bitty looked up. It was a decent window of opportunity. Kent _had_ said he could tell whoever he wanted. “They’re a present,” he said.

“That’s fucking ’swawesome!” Ransom grinned.

Bitty narrowly escaped the third degree by pleading schoolwork, tucking himself away in his room.

Studying for his finals while waiting for Kent’s call was absolute _torture_ . Bitty found himself unable to focus on the textbooks at all, all his thoughts swirling around the possibilities those three tickets presented him. Who were they meant to be _for_? And, lord. How long would Kent be in town? They’d have to see each other. Bitty didn’t think he could handle being in the same state as Kent without kissing him. It was asking far too much of his self-control.

He spent the rest of his evening pretending to study while baking a Boston cream pie. That nervous energy worked itself out in the baking, but it was only after he’d completed, photographed, _and_ served his creation that he felt ready to relax in a shower. The hot water helped calm his racing thoughts, but as soon as he’d settled in his bed with Señor Bun in his lap, Bitty felt all keyed up all over again.

The icon for an incoming call just couldn’t appear fast enough. As soon as he saw it, Bitty clicked accept and leaned forward.

“Kent Valeray _Parson_ !” Bitty exclaimed, as soon as the video went live, “you wonderful, ridiculous, extravagant, _silly_ boy! How could you? What on Earth did you send me? _Three_ tickets? Are you out of your mind?”

“Hi, babe,” Kent said. He laughed, the warm, bubbly laugh that Bitty was so fond of. He was in his own bed, hair half dry. “Merry Christmas. I thought you might like to come to the Winter Classic.”

What hockey fan didn't want to go to the Winter Classic? “Well, yes, of _course_ I do, but -- three? Three tickets?”

“Well…” Kent rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you might ask Coach and Suzanne if they wanted to come.” He winced. “I mean -- if you want them to. Or, you know, you can -- you can bring whoever you want, I just thought it would be nice because you don’t get a long Christmas break, and I thought you might not get to see them. If you, um. If you wanted to.”

Oh, this sweet boy. “I’m sure they’d love to come,” Bitty said. “But I want to see **you** if you’re going to be in town.”

“Well, yeah,” said Kent. “Obviously. I can come to Samwell or you can come to me. I don’t care. But I’m not sleeping alone in Massachusetts.”

Bitty grinned. “I’ll see if they want to come just for the game,” he said. “How ’bout that?”

The groupchat went _off_ as soon as Ransom mentioned it. Jack said he thought it would be a good game, and ignored every single question he got about why he wasn’t going himself. Shitty and Holster mourned their lack of tickets, especially since the Bruins were playing. Bitty had to promise to send regular updates during the game, and when Lardo pointed out that Bitty would almost certainly be there in Aces’ colors, the chirps flooded his phone faster than he could keep up with.

The last of their finals flew by. Samwell still had games to prepare for, and Bitty was throwing all his nervous energy into hockey -- well, all of it that didn’t make it into baked goods. He’d decided to save celebrating Christmas with Kent for when they could actually be together, and as such, he hadn’t sent a present to Vegas.

It did make him feel a bit guilty.

Kent was meant to arrive the following day. His home game in Vegas had resulted in a disappointing loss, something Bitty had barely managed to stay awake to see. His phone call with Kent was short and sweet, both of them eager to speak in person rather than rely on phones and computers. The anticipation should have kept Bitty up, but he was honestly too worn out from all his holiday baking and hockey to keep himself up worrying. He had a whole day before Kent would be in Boston. He needed to make sure he brought something suitably wonderful when he went to see him.

His phone’s vibrating barely registered several hours later.

_Kent: Are you sleeping?_

_Kent: I’m outside._

_Kent: Let me in?_

Kent stood on the porch in his gameday suit, grinning. “Hey, you.”

“You _fool_ ,” said Bitty, “what did you -- you did **not** drive here all the way from the airport. I thought your flight was tomorrow! It’s five in the _morning_.” He reached for Kent’s hand. “What if someone --”

“I know. I just, I couldn’t wait,” Kent said. He drew in closer, winding his arms around Bitty. He was warm and solid and Bitty slid his arms around Kent’s waist, tucking his face in next to his neck.

“Babe?” Kent said, after a moment.

“Mmm?”

“Take me to bed.”

In the morning, Bitty slipped down to the kitchen first, bringing coffee back up for Kent rather than make him come down to the kitchen to face the rest of the guys. He poured just the right amount of milk into it before creeping back up the stairs, trying not to make much noise. When he pulled his bedroom door open, Kent was still lounging in the bed, arms crossed behind his head.

“Aw, babe,” he said. “Breakfast in bed?”

“Hush,” said Bitty, coming to stand in front of the bed. “I just thought it’d make things easier.”

“Mmm.” Kent sat up, leaning forward to curl one hand around Bitty’s thigh. “Thank you.” He took the coffee, sipping from it without moving.

Bitty flushed. “What d’you have to do today?” he asked.

“Meet up with the guys when they get here,” Kent said. He closed his eyes when Bitty slid fingers through his hair. “Later. It’ll be later.” He brushed his thumb back and forth across the skin of Bitty’s inner thigh.

Bitty shivered. “And tomorrow?”

“I’ll have morning skate tomorrow,” Kent said, leaning to set his coffee aside. “You wanna come sleep in the hotel with me?”

“Of course,” Bitty said. “I want to see your little hat.”

“My hat?” Kent laughed. “What hat?”

“Your beanie,” Bitty said.

Kent kissed him, pulling them both down against the pillows. When they fell asleep, tangled together, Bitty felt calm and content. Kent slipped out of the Haus late in the morning, once most of the other occupants were gone -- he had to meet up with the rest of the Aces and prepare for the Winter Classic, while Bitty had to prepare for his parents’ arrival.

Bitty met his parents at the airport without Kent, scrolling through social media while he waited.

Kent looked adorable in his toque, pictures of his smiling face already hitting Aces social media. One of Jeff applying eye black to Kent’s face had gotten a bunch of likes already, and in every picture it seemed like the guys were having a great time. He’d just clicked out of a video when he heard his mother calling his name.

“Dicky!” Suzanne waved, already heading toward Bitty. Coach trailed after her.

“Hi, mama!” Bitty tucked his phone into his pocket and waved back.

“My word, I can’t believe how cold it is -- how do you stand it?” Suzanne shivered. “Still, how exciting! It was so nice of Kent to get us these tickets, I hope you thanked him?”

“Of course I did, Mama,” Bitty said.

He took them to a small café for food before heading out for the game. Bitty wanted to catch the Aces’ practice, and his parents certainly didn’t mind -- despite the chill in the air, everything about the Winter Classic was exciting. The energy in the air was apparent from the first moment they arrived at Gillette Stadium, and the buzzing excitement didn’t settle once they’d been there a while. If anything, Bitty found himself feeling more and more keyed up. He couldn’t help thinking about what Kent might be doing, and checking social media to see updates was excruciating.

His phone buzzed once, about an hour after they’d gotten there, and when he pulled it out he saw Kent’s name in the notifications.

 _I love you_. Bitty swallowed against the tightness in his throat.

Having his parents come to the game with him was honestly… less stressful than Bitty expected it to be. Kent had framed the gift of tickets as a thank you for their hospitality over the summer, and he’d taken care of calling to discuss it himself. Bitty hadn’t had to do anything except wait for an excited phone call from his mother.

They were all cheering for Vegas, of course. Bitty was surprised by how much Coach seemed to have learn about hockey -- but he was _wild_ during the game, cheering for the Aces with abandon. It was the most fun he’d had at a hockey game in… well, maybe ever. His parents’ enthusiasm for Kent’s playing warmed Bitty’s heart.

The Aces played a fast, tight game. With ice conditions always subject to change, they had to make plays that could withstand some changes, and be able to adapt when it didn’t work out. Both teams were going all out, but the Aces still managed to beat Boston five to one.

Kent met Bitty at the Haus hours later, after sunset. He texted to have Bitty come down and let him in, and once they were safely tucked away upstairs, he pulled Bitty close.

“Aren’t you tired?” Bitty asked, drawing his fingers down Kent’s chest. He was wearing that soft blue sweater, the one from the Beyoncé cover video.

“I have to leave tomorrow,” Kent murmured. He slid his hands around Bitty’s thighs to grip his ass. “And I can sleep on the plane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you piesnpucks and rhysiana, as always, for being awesome.
> 
> feels like the calm before the storm, doesn't it?


	29. if you seek amy

It was pure luck that Bitty’s schedule allowed him to go out to Vegas for the game. It was an early February match, Providence at Las Vegas, and Bitty was going to have to do a whirlwind trip -- come in the day of the game, stay for a day after, leave. Still, it would be worth it.

He hoped.

To be honest, the more he thought about it, the more uneasy Bitty felt. Had they talked about it enough? Was this really going to be okay?

Worrying about it didn’t change the fact that he still  _ wanted _ to do it, though. Bitty knew that Jack had feelings for Kent, and he was sure that Kent still harbored them for Jack, too. Wouldn’t it help them if they could express those? He’d done some reading online about relationships between more than two people. It could work! It sounded like it would be a lot of work, but it was possible. 

Well, maybe. As he packed for Vegas, Bitty tucked Señor Bun in next to his shirts. Kent had specifically asked him to come for more than one night -- which meant, Bitty assumed, that he wanted them to have a night alone. Was that just his wanting to see Bitty, or was he upset? It could be so hard to tell. 

When Kent met him at the airport, his eyes soft, Bitty fought the impulse to kiss him right there. There were too many cameras. He seemed bigger than Bitty remembered, standing there in his backwards cap, hands in his pockets. 

“Hey, you,” Kent said. “Good flight?”

“I missed you,” Bitty said.

Kent took his bag, leaning close. “I missed you, too,” he said. “And we have a little time before I have to be at the arena.” He carried Bitty’s bag out to his car, both of them taking care not to walk too close to each other.

They used their spare time to take a nap, curled up together in Kent’s bed, the room cool and dark. Bitty wound his arms around Kent’s shoulders and held him close, breathing in the smell of his hair. They didn’t sleep long enough to keep Kent from making his two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before the game, nor did Bitty question the pre-game pop playlist in the car on the way to the arena. Kent handed his spare sandwich off to Bitty in the car before they got out, pairing it with a kiss on the cheek.

“Love you,” he said.

“I love you, too, sweetpea,” said Bitty. 

His ticket to the game was  _ incredible _ , right next to the glass near the team benches. Kent hadn’t put him in with Aces’ friends or family, but he had gotten him what was likely the best seat in the house, otherwise. Bitty, having arrived with Kent, was early enough to watch warmups -- early enough to stare around the empty stadium and eat his sandwich, contemplating Kent’s use of blueberry preserves. When warmups started, Bitty made sure he stayed in his seat. His stomach hurt seeing Kent and Jack on the ice at the same time, even though they were completely ignoring each other. 

The stretch of time between warmups and puck drop wasn’t all that long, but from where Bitty was sitting, it seemed like forever. He wasn’t even sure who he wanted to win! The Aces had won the last time the two teams met -- should he hope that Providence won, so that Kent and Jack would be even in terms of wins?

No, he decided, watching the Aces take the ice. He hoped Kent won.

It was a tough game from the first faceoff. Providence, eager to make up for their own home loss, was playing with an unusual level of intensity right out of the gate. It didn’t seem like Coach Scott wanted Kent on the ice at the same time as Jack -- Bitty noticed that they were almost never out together. 

After a particularly hard shift -- Providence had kept the Aces pinned in their own zone for a while, but to no avail -- Kent skated back to the bench and immediately shed his helmet. He was playing with a full face cage, as he had been since the first game against Providence, and he took any excuse to take it off on the bench. He dumped half a water bottle directly over his head. Jeff reached a large glove over to ruffle Kent’s hair, earning himself a small elbow to the side. There was a lot of smiling on the Aces bench, and for good reason: at the end of the second, they were up by two.

The score didn’t change for the rest of the game. The Aces’ goalie was an intimidating guy, but he seemed to have a particular interest in getting a shutout against Providence. They worked hard, keeping the puck in the Aces’ zone for half the period, but in the end they failed to score.

Bitty followed Kent’s previous directions about where to go and waited around, looking at his phone while Kent and Jack did press. Kent’s answers to questions were the perfect Captain-type answers he always gave, though his smile  _ was _ particularly bright after a second win over Providence. Jack, on the other hand, gave comments about the fact that sometimes a team just didn’t win on a particular night, not going too in-depth with any of the reporters’ questions about Kent in particular.

Once he got a text from Kent, he made his way back to the dressing room, where Kent was sitting in his stall. Jeff stood next to him, rubbing roughly at his hair and trying to get Kent with the droplets. "C’mere, it’s only fair,” he said. It looked like a lot of the guys were already gone and Kent had relaxed enough to smile at Jeff's teasing.

“You’d think you’d snowed their goalie again, the way they came out in the last period,” Jeff said.

“Yeah, well.” Kent stretched. “We played a mostly clean game.”

“Mostly!” yelled Jeeves.

Kent laughed his bright, bubbly laugh.

“Hey, Eric,” said Jeff.

Kent turned, a smile spreading across his face. “Hey. Have fun?”

“It was a great game,” Bitty said. They chattered a little about the goals, and Bitty commented on how nice it was seeing Jeff and Kent on the same line again. They played so well together.

“Hey, so,” Kent’s voice was pitched low, “about tonight. I, um. I’d prefer the guest room, okay?”

“Your bed is so much bigger, though,” Bitty murmured, keeping his own volume low to match Kent’s.

“That’s  _ our _ bed,” Kent hissed.

“So,” Jeff said, loud enough to take over their conversation, “I’ll see you guys later?”

Bitty glanced at him. It was so hard to read Jeff’s face, but there was a tightness to his jaw that didn’t match his tone of voice.

“Yeah, man,” Kent said. Several of the players were heading for the door. “You guys have fun.”

“Like we do.” Jeff glanced back at Bitty. “You have fun, too.”

“Nice seein’ you,” Bitty said.

“Yeah.” Jeff left, followed by at least three other players. Bitty and Kent were almost the only people left.

“You don’t have to wait on me, Parser,” said Nikolaichev.

“It’s fine,” Kent said, in a tone that indicated he always waited.

He and Bitty were, of course, the last people out of the dressing room.

When they got back to Kent’s house, he wanted to make spaghetti -- like always. Bitty helped him, moving around the kitchen with ease. It felt like his kitchen, when he thought about it, familiar and comfortable. Kent needed a few more baking-specific things, but he’d spent enough time in the kitchen and seeing it on video that it felt like home.

They ate their spaghetti out of bowls, lazily sprawled on the sofa in the living room. Kent’s phone buzzed with messages a few times, and after picking it up, he sighed. “It’s Jack,” he said.

“Oh, is he coming now?” Bitty asked.

“I’m giving him the address,” Kent said. 

The doorbell rang while Kent was washing dishes. Leaving the kitchen, he let Jack in and waved him through to the living room. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Hey, Jack,” Bitty said. He was curled up on the sofa, Kit in his lap.

Jack sat down on the sofa. “Hey, Bittle.” He shifted his weight a little, clearing his throat while glancing around Kent’s living room.

Kent followed him in a second later, carrying a glass of water. “You want anything? I don’t have, like -- I don’t have beer or anything, but --”

“Do you have soda?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Kent said.

“Is it Coke?” Jack asked.

“It’s all Coke,” said Bitty.

“It’s  _ actually _ Coke,” said Kent.

“I’ll take it.”

Kent went to the kitchen and returned with a can of Coke, which he handed over without comment. “All right, scoot,” he said, waving a hand.

Bitty scooted over closer to Jack, making room for Kent on his other side. As soon as Kent sat, Bitty threaded fingers into his hair, curling in close. Kent switched the television on, changing channels until he landed on  _ The Avengers _ . “Oh,” he said, “you like this, don’t you?”

“I like Chris Hemsworth,” Bitty said.

“Really?” asked Jack. “Not Evans?”

“I’d pick Evans,” said Kent. “Or, y’know, Robert Downey, Jr.”

“You would,” said Jack.

Some time later, when the movie was maybe half over, Bitty got up to use the bathroom and grab some water. When he returned to the living room, Jack was closer to Kent, both of them still sitting on the sofa.

“You look good,” Jack said. His fingers brushed the back of Kent’s neck.

“I know,” said Kent. There was something different about the way he said it to Jack, not as light and easy as it was when he said it to Bitty.

Jack laughed. “Right,” he said. Their thighs were touching, his free hand lightly draped over Kent’s leg. “Of course you do.” 

“You do, too,” Kent said. “Not that you need me to tell you that. You always do.” He turned his head, looking away from Jack’s face, a faint blush blooming under his freckles. 

They looked so pretty together. Bitty crossed the room quickly, setting his water down before leaning over and tucking his fingers under Kent’s chin. He tilted Kent’s head back and kissed him, at first just meaning for the kiss to be light. Kent’s hand found his hip as the kiss deepened, thumb sliding just under the hem of Bitty’s shirt. Bitty could hear Jack’s shivering intake of breath. He broke the kiss, pulling back.

“You wanna go to bed?” Bitty asked, voice breathless. The room was so, so hot.

“Yes,” said Jack.

Kent’s pupils seemed impossibly large. “Yeah,” he said. He slid his tongue over his bottom lip.

Bitty took a step back and Jack stood. It only took a second for Kent to follow, and Bitty went straight for the guest bedroom, not bothering to waste any time. Kent’s hand caught at his as he turned away, lacing their fingers together. Bitty led him down the hallway.

He turned to flip the light on and Kent kissed him again, pulling him close. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Bitty’s neck before stepping away, grabbing something off the nightstand. Kent slid past Jack and out into the hallway, leaving them alone.

Jack reached for Bitty, tucking fingers under his chin to tilt his head back before gently brushing their lips together. He was gentle and hesitant and so very…  _ tall _ . Jack smelled like soap and chapstick. Bitty leaned into the kiss, pushing Jack further into the room. He felt breathless and giddy, and when Jack nipped at his lower lip, Bitty groaned just a little. He shoved the middle of Jack’s chest with one hand, and as Jack sat on the bed, Bitty edged in between his knees.

Jack’s hands were on his hips, the heat of his palms sinking quickly through Bitty’s shorts. There were entirely too many clothes between them, and he hooked his fingers under the hem of Jack’s t-shirt without hesitation, pulling it up and over his head. Tossing it onto the floor, Bitty let his hands rest on Jack’s broad shoulders as he leaned back, just a little, to look at him.

And  _ lord _ , was Jack gorgeous, even more gorgeous than Bitty remembered from school. The NHL had really filled him out, something Bitty hadn’t even thought  _ possible _ . “Good lord,” he said, letting his hands slide down from Jack’s shoulders to his chest.

“It  _ is _ ridiculous,” said Kent. He was leaning in the doorway, back from wherever he’d gone.

Jack flushed as Kent stepped in closer. He leaned back just a little, bracing his weight with one hand on the mattress. “Shut up,” he said.

“Make me,” said Kent, looking over Bitty’s shoulder.

Jack grabbed the front of Kent’s shirt, dragging him in close to kiss him. Their kissing was frantic, heated, and Jack pulled Kent’s shirt hard enough to drag him into the bed before yanking it all the way off.

Bitty and Kent weren’t aggressive with each other, not like that. They didn’t need to be. It had never occurred to Bitty to be forceful with Kent. 

It had obviously occurred to Jack.

But it would be a lie to say that Bitty didn’t find it thrilling. Jack and Kent were both muscular and powerful and the reality of watching them together was so, so much hotter than Bitty’s dreams. It was hotter than anything he’d watched online. Any worries he’d had about seeing Kent with someone else faded with the rising warmth in his stomach. When Kent reached for him, Bitty let himself be pulled in between them, tangling his hands into Kent’s hair. Kent was already half hard beneath Bitty, the bare skin of his chest hot and flushed.

Jack’s hands slid down his back and Bitty shivered. Kent kissed his neck, lips soft against the tender skin. It was so much stimulation at once -- hot breath on his neck, the pressure of Jack on his thigh, strong fingers gripping his hips. Bitty wasn’t sure how he’d thought this would go, but he  _ was _ sure that he’d considered Kent in the middle much more than he’d considered himself. Jack’s hands worked their way up under Bitty’s shirt to brush against his nipples, and he moaned into Kent’s kiss. Pulling back to rid himself of his shirt, Bitty paused to allow Jack time to reach Kent again. 

Kneeling behind Jack, Bitty traced his fingers over taut muscle as Jack reached forward, pulling Kent closer. Kent straddled Jack’s thighs, sitting up as Jack fumbled with the button of his jeans. Bitty tucked his fingers into the waistband of Jack’s jeans, too, sliding them around slowly. God, Kent and Jack were hot together. Bitty nipped at Jack’s ear, keeping his eyes on Kent’s face.

Kent’s eyes were closed. 

Jack’s hand dipped lower, bringing a soft gasp from Kent. Bitty grinned, moving his own hands lower, pulling Jack’s jeans with them. He wanted to touch both of them, and he sat up higher on his knees to encourage the complete removal of all the clothing in his way.

Bitty was just pressing a kiss to Jack’s neck when Kent’s shuddering sob stopped him. Jack was still kissing him, his fingers wound into Kent’s hair, and as Kent pulled away from him Bitty felt Jack’s breath hitch. “Kenny,” he murmured.

“No,” Kent said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn. amirite?
> 
> thank you rhysiana & piesnpucks.


	30. these wounds are self inflicted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have been asked for a short summary of the last chapter, so:
> 
> when we last left our heroes they were attempting a threesome with one jack zimmermann. they didn't get very far before kent said 'no'.
> 
> also, in this chapter there is a very short mention of suspected abuse. just so y'all know.

Kent pulled in a shivering breath. “No,” he said, again, as Jack cupped his face with both hands.

“Baby,” Bitty said, stomach tightening. God, he was _crying_. This was such a bad idea. Why hadn’t he realized?

“I --” Jack cut his sentence off before it even got started.

Before Bitty knew what was happening, Kent had pushed away from Jack entirely, deserting the bed. He didn’t stop to grab his shirt before leaving the room, moving at a pace far too quick for Bitty to keep up with. The guest room door shut after him, the sound echoing just a little.

Bitty took a breath.

“I thought you talked to him,” Jack said, staring at the door.

“He -- he told me to talk to you about it,” Bitty said, easing himself off the bed. “He said we could try.”

“Uh,” said Jack, “maybe you should talk to him some more.”

A door shut in the distance. Fuck, was Kent _leaving_? It was his house! Jack’s eyes widened. “Did he --”

Bitty grabbed his shirt off the floor. He was such an _idiot_. “I have to go after him,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Jack. His voice was soft. Looking down at his hands, he sighed. “This isn’t happening,” he said, after a stretch of quiet.

“Obviously,” said Bitty.

“Ever,” Jack said. “This isn’t happening, ever.”

Bitty swallowed. Looking at Jack, he tried to smile. “Looks that way,” he said.

“I don’t think you should visit me anymore,” said Jack.

Oh. “I --” Bitty swallowed again. His throat felt so tight. What was _happening_? “If that’s what you want,” he said, wishing his voice came out a little stronger.

“It’s not,” said Jack. He tugged his shirt back on, stood up. “But I think it’s best.” He took a breath.

Bitty opened the bedroom door. “I have to go,” he said.

“I’ll get a car,” said Jack.

It sounded like a dismissal. Bitty opened his mouth to say something, but Jack was already looking at his phone. Biting his lip, Bitty turned toward the bedroom door.

Heading back to the living room, Bitty sat on the sofa to put on his shoes. He needed to find Kent. Fuck, where would he _go_? Bitty took a deep breath. He’d look to see if Kent’s car was in the garage, first. That would be sensible.

It wasn’t. Bitty tried to call Kent’s phone, but it went straight to voicemail. He’d turned it off. After leaving a message anyway, Bitty tried to think about where Kent might go. The church? The arena?

Jeff.

Pulling his phone out, he pushed the button to call Jeff’s number. It rang and rang, going to voicemail in the end. Bitty bit his lip. He’d mailed Jeff some cookies once, hadn’t he? Scrolling back through his texts, he searched for the address.

 _Gotcha_. Bitty put the address into Uber. When Jack walked through, he headed straight for the front door. “My car’ll be here in four minutes,” he said.

“Okay,” said Bitty. He followed Jack to the front door. Where did they stand, exactly? “Jack,” he said.

“Bittle,” said Jack.

“Is this -- are we, y’know. Are we okay?”

Jack glanced at Bitty’s face. “I don’t know.”

Jack’s phone chimed, breaking the stretch of silence. His car had arrived, and Bitty took a quick look at the app to see that his car was only one minute behind. “Will you at least let me know you get back safely?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jack said. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Look, I have to go,” he said.

“I know,” said Bitty.

Jack leaned down, brushing their lips together in a very soft, very brief kiss. “I wish things were different,” he said.

Bitty swallowed against the pain in his throat, blinking back tears.

Jack walked out to his car without another word, leaving Bitty to close the front door and lock it with the spare key Kent kept under the little turtle statue by his front door. It was an ugly little thing, that turtle, but it had belonged to Kent’s grandfather and he refused to be without it. Sliding into the backseat of his Uber once it arrived, he confirmed Jeff’s address with the driver before settling in to stare out the window.

His leg just wouldn’t quit bouncing. That kiss from Jack -- did he wish things were different for all three of them? Or just for Bitty?

He’d kissed Bitty so differently from Kent. It was ridiculous, Bitty realized, to think that Kent and Jack would ever really be okay. He hadn’t listened to Kent at all. _There is no threesome with Jack Zimmermann that won’t end with me crying in the bathroom at 3am._ Kent was so self deprecating so much of the time that it could be hard to tell when he was joking and when he wasn’t. And, thinking about the way Kent had said _our bed_ to him in the dressing room, Bitty should’ve known.

He should’ve known. He should’ve called it off right then.

The car pulled up to Jeff’s apartment building and Bitty got out, thanking the driver before heading inside. Taking a deep breath, Bitty pulled the front door open and headed in. Kent had to be at Jeff’s place. Bitty was sure of it.

It only took a few minutes before he stood in the hallway, staring at apartment 319. So far he’d pushed the button for the doorbell twice and knocked as loudly as he dared, but Jeff hadn’t opened his door. Pulling out his phone, Bitty sent a single text: _you can’t just make me stand out here all night_.

Jeff’s answer came immediately. _Wanna bet?_

Ten full minutes later, Jeff opened the door, but not enough to allow Bitty entrance. “What do you want?” he asked, leaning in his doorway. His voice was cool, his face impassive, and for the first time, Bitty really registered just how _tall_ he was.

“Is Kent here?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Jeff said.

“Jeff,” Bitty said, “please. Let me talk to him.”

“I don’t know that he wants to talk to you,” Jeff said.

“Please,” Bitty said.

Jeff didn’t move. “I’m not sure I want you in my place, Eric.”

Fuck. What did Kent tell him? Bitty stared at him. “I’m not leaving,” he said, after a long moment. “I’ll sit out here all night if I have to. I’m not leaving until I see him.”

“What happened?” Jeff leaned on his door frame, taking up the entire space.

Bitty swallowed. “I… asked Kent to do something I shouldn’t have,” he said.

Jeff frowned.

A deep flush heated Bitty’s face and neck. “Something, uh, intimate,” he admitted. “With -- with someone else.”

Jeff clenched his jaw. He swallowed, turning away from Bitty for a second, muttering something in a language Bitty couldn’t understand.

When Jeff faced Bitty again, his eyes were dark. “Do you know him at _all_?” he asked, tone harsh. “How could you --”

“It was stupid.” Bitty rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I thought it would be fun -- I thought _we_ would have fun. It was stupid, but to be fair, he mentioned it first. I, um. Look, it’s complicated, okay?”

“Stop talking,” Jeff said. He ran a hand through his hair before pulling back, opening the door a little wider. Motioning Bitty in, he pulled the door closed after them. “Sit,” he said. “In the living room.”

Bitty stepped further into the apartment, looking around. He didn’t see Kent anywhere. Jeff’s furniture was plain, much of it black and white, but there were colorful blankets slung over the back of the sofa. He had a huge _Star Wars_ poster on one wall, framed. There was an electric guitar on a stand next to a fluffy bed for a dog, and a whole rack of records next to a turntable.

It was such a _guy’s_ apartment.

Sitting on the sofa, Bitty looked down at his knees for a moment. He rubbed his face. Where was Kent? What if he really didn’t want to see Bitty? What if he never wanted to see him again?

Jeff stalked into the living room and threw himself into an armchair with a boneless sort of grace. He looked at Bitty with an expectant expression, saying nothing.

Bitty squirmed a little. “Did he talk to you?” he asked.

“No,” said Jeff. “He didn’t need to.” He leaned his cheek against his hand. “It was pretty obvious that you fucked up.”

Understatement of the year. Bitty twisted his hands together. “I didn’t mean to,” he said. “And I thought if he didn’t want to do… things… he’d say no, so --”

“Look,” said Jeff, “I don’t know what happened, all right? I’m not gonna pretend like I do. But you -- he --” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think whoever his ex-boyfriend was, he maybe… it’s just, Kent acts like somebody that’s been abused, okay?” He paused. “He won’t -- he’s just gonna do whatever he thinks you want him to do.”

That was -- that was incorrect. Where was that even coming from? “Well, I -- I don’t think his ex-boyfriend _hit_ him, if that’s what you mean,” Bitty said. “I --”

“No, fuck you,” Jeff said. “That’s what you have to say for yourself? You took advantage of him, and I know he’s not gonna say it, but I will. Seriously, _fuck_ you.”

Bitty sucked in a sharp breath. His chest hurt.

“You don’t deserve him,” Jeff said. “And he _damn_ sure doesn’t deserve this.”

“I know that.” Bitty’s voice came out as a whisper. “I didn’t know it was gonna turn out like this.”

Jeff shifted in his chair. They were both quiet for a moment.

“Who was the other person?” Jeff asked, finally. His voice was quiet.

“It was Jack,” Bitty said, not looking up from his knees.

“Jack _Zimmermann_?”

There wasn’t as much accusation in that question as Bitty expected, but he could tell that Jeff did not approve.

Wait. _Whoever his ex-boyfriend was_. Jeff didn’t know? “He didn’t tell you?” Bitty asked.

Jeff gave him a sidelong glance. “Tell me what?”

“Um…” Bitty chewed on his lip, thinking about it. Jack had confirmed it himself, but Kent had never explicitly stated that they’d been together. It didn’t seem like he’d been forthcoming with Jeff about their relationship, either. Which meant that, for the moment at least, Jeff’s opinion of Bitty was at least a couple of inches above rock bottom.

If Kent hadn’t told him, Bitty wouldn’t, either. It didn’t seem right.

“Yeah,” said Jeff, after Bitty didn’t say anything else, “okay.” It didn’t seem like he believed Bitty very much. He crossed his arms over his chest, sighing. “He’s in the bedroom,” he said, finally. “I’ll go see if he wants to see you.”

He took a glass of water with him, heading down the hall. It was at least ten minutes before he came back. It gave Bitty a long time to stare around the living room, eyes landing on the large painting on the wall next to him, brightly colored and angular. It looked Native American, like the blankets on the sofa. Bitty picked at the edge of one, running his fingers over the soft wool.

Surely Kent would see him. Wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t tell Jeff to make Bitty leave.

Or would he? Bitty closed his eyes for a moment. _Fuck_.

A soft vibration from his phone interrupted his thoughts. Bitty pulled it out of his pocket. Jack had sent a single text, and when Bitty opened it, all it said was _back to hotel safely._ He bit his lip.

Jeff cleared his throat behind the sofa, and Bitty jerked a little. “You can go back there,” he said.

Bitty’s stomach twisted. “All right.”

Standing, Bitty headed for the hallway. His stomach felt like it was in knots. God, what if Kent wouldn’t talk to him?

What if Jeff was right?

“Hey, Eric?”

Bitty turned, looking back at the sofa where Jeff sat.

“He loves you,” Jeff said. He sounded sad.

“I know,” said Bitty. “I love him, too, Jeff.”

“Yeah. Please don’t --” Jeff stopped, looked up at his ceiling, sighed. “Please don’t hurt him any more, Eric.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him at all,” Bitty said.

The door to Jeff’s bedroom was cracked open, just barely. Bitty pushed it with one hand, carefully stepping into the doorway. The room was cool and dark, the only light coming from a small bedside lamp. There were glow-in-the-dark stars all over the ceiling.

Kent was curled on his side, a skinny greyhound laying across him and using his shoulder as a pillow. She wagged her tail when Bitty pushed the door open, but didn’t move otherwise.

“Baby?” Bitty kept his voice soft. “Can I come in?”

Kent’s shoulder moved in a tiny shrug.

Bitty edged toward the bed. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Kent said. His voice was rough and soft. Kevin whined gently, nosing at his cheek.

“Yes, I do,” Bitty said. “I didn’t listen to you, sweetpea, and I’m so sorry.” He reached out a hand, let it rest on Kent’s shoulder. “I was thinking about me, not about us.”

Kent shifted, uncurling a little. “You listened to me,” he said.

“Not really,” Bitty said. “You only said yes because that’s what I wanted, didn’t you?”

Kent didn’t say anything.

“Honey, I --” Bitty brushed his fingers through Kent’s hair. “I don’t want you to do things you don’t want to do just because you think that’s what I want. I love you. What do you think will happen if you say no?”

Kent’s shoulders hunched a little. “I -- I don’t know,” he said.

“Do you think I’m gonna leave you?”

Nothing.

“Hey,” Bitty said, slipping his fingers under Kent’s chin. “Kent. Honey. Look at me.”

Kent looked up. His eyes were red, face blotchy. He wasn’t a beautiful crier, not like people in movies. Lord, Bitty loved him so much.

“I _love_ you,” Bitty said. “I want to be with you. I don’t care if that means I can’t be with Jack.” He paused. “Why did you leave?”

Kent bit his lip. “I just… I felt dirty,” he said.

“Is that because of Jack?”

Kent swallowed. “Yes,” he said.

“Why’d you come here?” Bitty asked.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Kent said, simply.

Running his fingers through Kent’s hair again, Bitty laid down beside him. “And Jeff is here,” he said, thinking of the fierceness in Jeff’s voice and the pained way he’d asked Bitty not to hurt Kent any more.

“Yes,” said Kent.

He didn’t say anything else. Bitty sighed, brushing his fingers back across Kent’s scalp. “Honey. Talk to me. What -- what happened between you and Jack?” He’d never asked before, and he should have. He should have a long time ago.

Kent was quiet and Bitty waited, giving him space to formulate an answer.

“I ruined everything,” Kent said, finally. “I held him back. I made him --” he stopped talking.

“You’re not responsible for what happened,” Bitty said.

“I should’ve helped him,” Kent said, “instead of making him worry about me. And I thought…” he sighed. “I thought he loved me, back then.”

Bitty swallowed. “Did he hurt you?”

Kent rolled over enough to look up at Bitty. “I hurt myself. And I did things for him that I wish I -- I wish I hadn’t. And I thought if I could just, I don’t know.” Bringing both hands up to his face, Kent sighed again. “I did so much penance, Eric.”

What was he saying? Bitty felt sick, hearing the word _penance_ . It was hard to think of Kent, eighteen and terrified, sitting in a church in Las Vegas and being told… lord, who knew what. “Baby.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Kent’s hands. “It’s not -- it wasn’t your fault. And you didn’t do anything _wrong_ , being with Jack.”

“I regret it so much,” Kent whispered. “All of it. Everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much, as always, rhysiana & piesnpucks. 
> 
> and thank y'all for reading -- i cannot believe this thing is at 30 chapters. this is WILD AF.
> 
> sorry to the readers i just lost with these last two chapters.


	31. love is a contact sport

Fuck. Bitty let out a soft breath. _Penance_. “What do you mean,” he asked slowly, “when you say you did penance?”

Kent’s brow furrowed. “I went to confession,” he said, as if it were obvious. “The priest gives you -- I guess an assignment? After?”

An assignment? “Why?” Bitty asked.

“To make up for it,” Kent said. “There’s a lot of praying.”

Bitty’s chest hurt. “For being gay?” his voice came out much weaker than he’d planned. Did Kent go to some kind of conversion therapy?

Kent swallowed. “I -- I don’t want to talk about this any more,” he said.

“Okay,” Bitty said, drawing his hand down the side of Kent’s face. “That’s okay. We don’t have to.” What was he thinking? “Baby. It’s okay.”

“Look, I -- I made my own choices. With Jack. Okay? He didn’t make me do anything. It was my -- it was me.” Kent took a breath. “I was a stupid kid. We both were.”

God, what could he possibly say to that? “I…” Bitty shook his head. “Sweetpea. It’s --”

“I thought the fact that he _wanted_ to sleep with me meant that he loved me back,” Kent said. “But it doesn’t. It doesn’t mean that. And it didn’t mean anything to him.”

That couldn’t be right. Jack wasn’t really like that. Was he? “I’m sure it meant _something_ ,” Bitty said.

It was the wrong thing to say. Kent’s eyes darkened a little and he pulled away. “No,” he said. “I -- it didn’t, Eric. Okay?” He paused. “It didn’t. And I thought if I didn’t do what he wanted, then he wouldn’t love me any more,” Kent said. He laughed a little, the darkest laugh Bitty had ever heard from him. “I wasted so much time worrying about him.”

Of course. Kent was always worried, it seemed, about being left. Bitty frowned. “What --”

Kent interrupted him. “I thought if I was better at everything then he’d feel better, because I --” he took a sharp breath. “I just made things harder for him. That’s the truth. And he let me know it.”

What did that _mean_ , “made things harder”? Was it just hockey? Was it hiding sexuality? Something else? “Jack was hard on you,” Bitty murmured, “like he was hard on me at first. Is that it?” He remembered Jack’s targeted criticism pretty well from his freshman year.

Kevin let out a whine, and Kent reached a hand down to stroke her head. “Yeah. I mean, he was right.” He laughed. “I was so fucking stupid, Eric.”

“No, you weren’t,” Bitty said. “You were just a kid. You both were.” Everyone did stupid things. A fresh reminder to drive the point home -- as if he needed it, after this evening. He chewed his lower lip.

If Kent really regretted _everything_ he’d experienced with Jack, that included regretting having feelings for him. What if -- what if that’s how he felt about _Bitty_ , now? About their relationship? Things hadn’t been perfect for them, and when he thought back to the period of silence after the kegster, Bitty wanted to cry. His throat was burning.

He had to know. “Do you feel that way about us?” Bitty asked, after a stretch of quiet.

“No.” Kent uncurled further, reaching out to Bitty. “I don’t feel that way about us. About you.” He paused.

“Do you --” Bitty swallowed. “Do you regret being with me?”

“No,” said Kent.

“And have you done things for me you wish you hadn’t?” Bitty asked. _Did I make you feel like you had to?_

“Just this,” Kent said. He swallowed. “Well, this and -- I didn’t want to tell you that you should visit Jack, but I… I thought it would make you happy.”

“I’m not gonna be doing that any more,” Bitty said. Jack didn’t want him to, and that was that.

“Don’t say that.” Kent sighed. “I’m not gonna tell you who you can and can’t see,” he said. “That’s not what I meant.” He curled up a little, pressing his face to Bitty’s neck.

“I don’t want to be happy at your expense, sweetpea,” Bitty said, shifting a little to accommodate the added weight of Kent’s head on his shoulder. “Anyway, Jack told me not to come see him any more.”

“I don’t mind if you do,” Kent said. “I knew you were lonely. And I can’t be around for you like he can.” He paused. “At least, not right now. But I just -- I don’t want to, um.”

“You don’t want to be a part of that,” Bitty said.

“I don’t want to be involved,” Kent admitted. “With him.”

Yeah. That much was crystal clear. Bitty scrubbed at his cheek with the back of one hand, wiping away tears. “I just, I wish you would’ve been honest with me?” he said. “I would never have asked you to -- I would never have _suggested_ that if I knew you felt this way about him.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Kent said, pulling back just a little so that he could see Bitty’s face.

“I thought y’all were warming up to each other,” Bitty said. “That’s why I thought, I mean. Y’all seem fine when we talk when I’m over there. And I guess I thought, y’know. I thought you still loved him, and I know he still loves you, so I guess I just figured we might…”

“We might what?” Kent frowned.

This was not the time. “Never mind,” Bitty said, and then he kissed him. “I love you. Are you -- are you okay, though?”

Kent sighed a little. “I’m fine.” He paused. “What did you do with Jack?”

“Nothing. He got a car and went back to the hotel,” Bitty said. “I took an Uber here, ’cause I assumed this was where you’d be.” He squeezed Kent’s shoulder. Staying in Jeff’s house was… odd, for Bitty. Uncomfortable. Bitty was sure that Kent hadn’t heard what Jeff said, but it was circling in his head regardless. He wanted to leave. “C’mon. You wanna go home?”

“Oh,” Kent said. “I guess. I hadn’t thought about it.”

Of course he hadn’t. Kent obviously felt safe in Jeff’s apartment, even in his bed. Bitty chewed his lip. “Well, I’m getting tired, honey. And it’s la--”

A soft knock on the door startled them. Jeff peeked in, cautious. “You guys okay?”

Kent rolled over as Kevin’s tail whacked the bed in a happy frenzy. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry, I --”

“It’s fine,” Jeff said, glancing at Bitty. “I’m -- I’m not gonna do this with you right now, I just wanted to check.” He waited for Kevin to come to him before leaving and shutting the door again.

Bitty winced.

Kent sighed. “Fuck,” he said. “I gotta -- I should talk to him.”

“He cares about you,” Bitty said. It was obvious. Jeff was so protective of Kent, and the way he looked at him sometimes… Bitty had questions about how straight Jeff really was. Kent didn’t seem to notice how much Jeff cared for him, but it wasn’t lost on Bitty. And honestly? Kent needed that.

“Jeff is a good person, he’s just tired,” said Kent. He got out of bed, stretching a little. “Hang on. I’m gonna, um. I’m gonna talk to him, okay?”

“Yeah,” said Bitty.

He gave Kent about ten minutes before peeking out of the bedroom door. Bitty walked up the hallway to the living room, where Kent was sitting across from Jeff.

“-- thing’s fine,” Kent was saying. “I’m all right.”

“Look, man, it’s your life,” Jeff said. “If this is what you wanna do, fucking fine. I’m way too tired to argue with you right now.” He rubbed his face.

Bitty cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said.

Jeff turned, looking at him. “Eric,” he said.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Kent stood up, pressed a hand to Jeff’s shoulder.

“Whatever,” Jeff said. He didn’t look up.

“Go to bed,” said Kent.

“Yeah,” said Jeff. “Good night. Lock up when you leave.”

He didn’t walk them to the door.

The drive back to Kent’s house was quiet. Even though Kent said they were fine, Bitty couldn’t help feeling guilty. It settled in his stomach, cold and twisted. Kent parked in his garage, getting out of the car without saying anything.

Bitty followed him in. Kent tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. He rubbed the back of his neck, slowly walking toward the stairs. “I’m gonna shower,” he said. Glancing back at Bitty, he paused. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Bitty. “Go ahead, honey.” He walked up the stairs, heading down to Kent’s room. It was dark and quiet, the air cool. Kent always kept the air set to a frigid temperature for bedtime. Bitty sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his thighs.

God. What a monumental fuckup of a day. Now that they were home, the adrenaline high wearing off, Bitty was _exhausted_. He’d been so worried about making sure that everything was okay, but once he sat down? He just wanted to curl up and sleep for hours. They still had another day and night together, and Bitty hoped they could spend a good portion of it relaxing.

Kit jumped up into the bed with a soft chirp, immediately bumping up against Bitty’s side. “Hey, princess,” he said, brushing gentle fingers over her fur. “Long day, huh?” Kit purred.

He could hear the shower running down the hall, imagined that Kent was probably falling asleep standing up. After a bit of time passed, Bitty got up and went down the hall, pushing the door open with one hand. “Kent? You okay?”

“Yeah,” Kent said. The water turned off. “I’m coming. Sorry, I just -- I’m so fucking tired.”

They both were. Bitty could feel jet lag settling into his bones. They were up _way_ later and in much more emotional circumstances than usual. “It’s okay, baby,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “I was just checking on you.” He paused. “You remember to brush your teeth?”

“Not yet,” Kent said. “Did you?” He stepped out of his shower, grabbing for a towel without looking. He leaned over the sink, brushing his teeth with his eyes closed.

Bitty grabbed his own toothbrush, leaning against the counter while he cleaned his teeth. Once they were both finished, he touched soft fingers to Kent’s arm. “You want me to turn on the ocean sounds?”

Kent hung up his towel. “Yes,” he said, and then he turned and kissed Bitty, very gently. “Thank you. I know you’re tired, too.”

They curled up in bed, Kent collapsing onto the mattress first while Bitty turned off lights and set the ocean sounds playing on his phone. Kent rolled onto his side, putting his back to Bitty. They slept like that a lot, but it felt cold now.

Reaching out a hand, Bitty gently touched Kent’s shoulder. “Honey?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.

“Mmm?”

“We okay?”

Kent turned to face him. “Yes,” he said. “We’re fine.” Bitty nodded, and Kent reached his arm out, hooking it over Bitty’s waist. He tugged Bitty closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s just been a long day, babe.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. That was the understatement of the century.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted,” Kent said, voice soft in the dark.

Bitty wound his arms around Kent. “I did, though,” he said. “Baby. I choose you.”

Kent gave a watery laugh. “Am I your Pokémon?”

“The very best,” Bitty said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again, rhysiana & piesnpucks. y'all the MVPs.
> 
> i want to also thank all y'all for sticking around and reading this story.


	32. you can turn my lights out

They slept in the next morning, and when Bitty woke up, he was surprised to see that it was nearing noon. The heavy curtains in Kent’s room kept both light and heat at bay, despite the hot sunshine in Las Vegas. Kent was still curled up in bed, and he barely stirred when Bitty slipped out to go to the bathroom. 

Down in the kitchen, Bitty took out things for coffee, setting Kent’s Hockey Hall of Fame mug on the counter next to a chipped Harry Potter one. After the boiled water sat for a minute, he poured it over the coffee grounds and left it to sit with a timer. Bitty wandered back into the living room and took a moment to stand by the back doors, staring out at the yard. The sun was bright over Kent’s meticulously arranged succulent and cactus garden.

Lord, what a mess.

He hadn’t checked in with Jack again. Staring out at the only lavender succulent in Kent’s whole garden, Bitty sighed a little. He was probably fine. Right? Jack would be fine. And he probably didn’t really want Bitty to check on him.

He startled when Kent slid an arm around his waist. “Hey, you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of Bitty’s neck. “You look contemplative.”

“Lord, I didn’t know you were up!” Bitty relaxed a little, letting out a soft breath.

Kent laughed a little, voice still rough from sleep. “You weren’t in bed. I woke up.”

“Good morning, honey,” Bitty said, leaning back against Kent’s bare chest. He was warm.

“Well, kind of,” Kent said. He kissed Bitty’s shoulder before pulling away to answer the kitchen timer. When he returned, he handed Bitty the Harry Potter mug, now full of steaming coffee.

“Did you sleep okay?” Bitty asked. 

“Like the dead,” said Kent. Retrieving his own mug of coffee, he took a sip. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Bitty said. “I was really tired, I guess.” He joined Kent at the table, sitting down and wrapping his hands around his mug. “What did you want to do today?”

“The boyfriend tag on YouTube,” Kent said. “Watch trash television. Be with you.” He paused. “I have to go in for a bit, probably as soon as I finish this. Optional skate.” Kent took a long drink of his coffee.

How was it possible that Bitty hadn’t thought of doing the boyfriend tag? “Oh!” He laughed. “Yes! Oh my Lord, I can’t believe we haven’t --”

“-- Done it already? I  _ know _ . That’s why I wanted to do it while you were here.” Kent grinned. “I figure we’ll do mine first, then yours. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Unless we do mine next time you visit me.”

The corner of Kent’s mouth quirked in a smile. “Okay.” He glanced back at the kitchen. “Fuck, I gotta eat. And get dressed.”

“Eggs?” Bitty asked.

“Whites,” said Kent. “And peppers. And stuff.” He loved to scramble things together in one skillet.

“And meat,” Bitty said.

“I guess,” said Kent.

“You’re too skinny again,” Bitty said. Kent opened his mouth to protest and Bitty shook his head. “I know you lose weight in season, but you need to eat to keep it on. Okay?”

“God,” said Kent, “you sound like Jeff. Fine! Fine. I’ll put sausage in it.”

Bitty leaned over, kissing Kent’s cheek. “Thank you, honey.”

Soon they were both in the kitchen, pop music playing quietly in the background as Bitty chopped vegetables while Kent cooked turkey sausage in a pan. Before sitting down with his plate, Kent glanced at the clock. “Gotta eat fast,” he said. 

Bitty put a forkful in his mouth, nodding. “Got it,” he said.

Kent paused. “Um,” he said.

“What is it?” Bitty asked, not looking up from his plate, where he was scooting eggs onto his toast.

“Do you want to come?” Kent asked. 

Bitty almost dropped his fork. 

“It’s family practice,” Kent said. “So a lot of the guys will bring their kids and stuff…”

Family practice. Everyone who met Bitty would meet him as someone who was, at least,  _ close _ to Kent. “Yeah,” said Bitty. “If you want me to come, I’d love to.”

It would be his first time meeting the whole team. When they got to the arena, Kent frowned as he parked his car. “Why’d Chris bring the baby so early?” he muttered, opening his car door.

Opening his own door, Bitty saw Christopher Troy holding a small child in one arm, ushering two other children out of an SUV. Kent was already walking over, hands held out as the baby reached for him.

“What’re you doing here?” Kent asked the baby as he took him from Christopher. He pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead before settling him onto one hip. “Hiya, Teddy.”

“Oh, thank god. Bethany’s puking,” Christopher said. “And since  _ both _ our normal sitters are here, I had to bring the kids early.” He grinned, and Bitty was struck by how very much Christopher looked like Jeff.

Kent laughed a bright, bubbly laugh. Teddy stroked the side of Kent’s face and he turned his head, murmuring something Bitty couldn’t hear. He looked  _ perfect _ . God, why was Bitty’s stomach all hot? Was he really that affected by the sight of Kent with a baby?

Embarrassing.

“It’ll be fine,” Christopher said. His car chirped as he hit the button to lock the doors. “C’mon, guys! Go inside! Oliver -- put that -- don’t pick that up,” he said, lunging for a skinny boy in glasses and a chemistry t-shirt who was reaching for something on the asphalt. “Why don’t you go see if Uncle Jeff’s here already?” Christopher asked.

A girl who looked to be about ten had spotted Bitty, and she was already heading over. “Who’re you?” she asked. She had a different color of glitter nail polish on each nail and Christopher’s same thick, dark hair.

“Juli, I said inside,” Christopher said.

“Eric’s my friend,” said Kent. He glanced at Christopher, who already had a small, smug smile on his face. “Shut up.”

Bitty followed the kids inside, staying a step behind Kent as they walked in. How were they going to manage three little kids  _ and _ have practice? He chewed on the inside of his mouth as he walked.

They were quite a spectacle, pushing into the dressing room with a diaper bag and sparkly backpack and three small children.

“What, you forget your wife?” asked De los Santos, the backup goalie. 

“Mommy’s puking,” said Julianna.

“Gross,” he said. “So we’re stuck with you, eh?” He ruffled Julianna’s hair with a hand, smiling softly.

“I can watch them,” Bitty said, edging just a little closer to Kent. The nervousness in his stomach, tight and cold, was making him nauseated.

“Oh!” Christopher turned to him. “Are you sure?”

“I love kids,” he said. They’d be a great distraction.

“Who is --”

“This is my friend, Eric,” Kent said, shifting Teddy on his hip. “He plays college hockey. And he made that peanut butter pie I brought you guys a while back.”

“Y’all can call me Bitty.” Bitty smiled. “All my friends do.”

“Oh, fuck,” said Jeeves, “that pie was the best thing ever.”

“ _ Language _ !” Christopher turned to Bitty. “It was good, though. Did you bring another one?” 

“I didn’t know I needed to bring pie,” Bitty said.

“Oh, cool.” One of the Aces rookies was eyeing Bitty through narrowed eyes. “Where do you play?”

“Samwell,” said Bitty. 

“Parse finally brought someone to family skate? That’s wild,” said Jeeves, pushing past Christopher. “Dude, why are your progeny here?”

“Bethany’s sick,” Christopher said.

“I got this,” said Bitty. “Y’all go ahead and get ready.” He glanced at Kent. “Give him to me, yeah?”

Kent was a little hesitant to release Teddy, but after a moment he relented. “He pulls hair,” he said.

“That’s okay,” said Bitty, settling Teddy onto his hip as a tiny fist curled around the fabric of his shirt. He glanced at Julianna. “Y’all wanna go put on some skates and show me some moves? I bet you’re faster than your dad.”

“You should ask Eric for moves,” Kent said, already lacing up a skate. “He used to be a figure skater.”

“ _ Really _ ?” Julianna whipped around, staring at Bitty. 

“Really,” he said, feeling warmer already.

“Why don’t you help me watch tape, Ollie?” Jeff had entered the locker room, dropping his bag down beside Kent with practiced ease.

“Okay,” Oliver said. “I’ll tell you where you messed up.”

“You really are your father’s son, you know that?” Jeff ruffled Oliver’s hair. “C’mon, then.”

They ended up with Bitty on one end of the ice, holding Teddy, while Julianna showed him things she’d learned and begged for him to show her spins. The Aces were mostly down on the other end, working on things individually or in pairs. Kent seemed to be focusing on endurance while Papadakis was doing… something… with De los Santos. It involved a lot of laughing. Most of the guys Bitty hadn’t met were doing off-ice things like watching tape with Jeff or working with trainers. It wasn’t much different from Samwell’s practices.

Sara waved at him when she arrived. Bitty had Juliana hold Teddy while he showed her the most basic spin he could remember. It felt good to be on the ice, even just fooling around with kids. He caught Kent looking at him a few times, and he put a little extra oomph into the next jump he demonstrated. For Julianna, of course. 

Aces family day, it seemed, often involved a barbecue. Practice wrapped up early as family members began to arrive, filtering in a few at a time. Bitty found himself wrapped up in a conversation about the merits of pie versus cobbler with Coach Scott’s wife before he knew what was happening, and the time flew by. Teddy babbled at his side, a bright spot in every conversation. Kent introduced him to everyone, and while Bitty recognized a few of the suspicious looks he got from some of the players, everyone seemed happy that Kent had finally brought someone. Jeff avoided Bitty, taking care never to be in the same group conversation with him and finding convenient excuses to leave when Bitty approached.

He’d have to do something about that.

When he caught Oliver yawning, Christopher began to gather up his children. “We gotta go, guys,” he said. “Your mom’s lonely.”

“Aww, but I wanted to skate with Bitty some more,” said Julianna.

“I’m sure Bitty will come back,” Christopher said. All the same, he let Bitty help him out to the car with Teddy. Once he’d settled Teddy into his car seat, Bitty attempted to take a step back, stopping when he realized Teddy hadn’t turned him loose yet. 

“Thanks for watching them today,” said Christopher. “It was cool of you. Teddy can be a handful.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” Bitty said, carefully detaching Teddy’s arms from his neck. “They’re adorable.”

“Bye, Pie!” said Teddy, waving. He was precious.

“Bye, Teddy,” Bitty said, wiggling his fingers.

They both showered when they got back to Kent’s house, Bitty taking the guest bathroom while Kent used his. When he stepped inside, Bitty saw a retainer sitting in a little case by the sink next to an electric toothbrush. The guest bathroom was quite different from Kent’s -- less luxurious, more efficient. The soap in the shower was plain and, from the smell of it, hypoallergenic. Even the shampoo was basic, though it was at least pleasantly tingly on the scalp. When he stepped out, Bitty glanced at the toothbrush again, thinking. 

Kent didn’t have a retainer.

He returned to Kent’s bedroom with damp hair, flopping onto the bed while he waited for Kent to get dressed. “What now?” Bitty asked.

“Boyfriend tag,” said Kent. He tugged a sweater on over his head. “And then whatever you want.”

Bitty sat up, grinning at Kent. “Perfect.”

Kent set pillows down on the floor in front of the bed. They both sat down, Kent draping his arm over Bitty’s shoulders as they settled in to film. He’d edit the video later to make sure it stayed anonymous enough, but Kent usually set his camera up in such a way that he didn’t have to do that much to his videos to achieve that. Bitty cleared his throat.

“Is it on?”

“Yeah. Ready?” Kent gripped his mug of tea. He was wearing a soft wine colored sweater, and it looked pretty next to Bitty’s light blue.

“Okay!” Bitty took a breath and snuggled closer. “Go.”

“All right,” Kent said, looking at the camera, “Okay! So, I’m here with my boyfriend --” he gestured to Bitty.

“Hey, y’all!” Bitty waved. “Oh -- can the camera see my hands?” He hooked his thumbs together, wiggling his fingers. “Hm?”

“Yeah, it can. I’m gonna -- what are you doing, is that a shadow puppet?”

“Yeah, look, see --” Bitty laughed, holding his hands out to the side. A butterfly shaped shadow fluttered on the mattress behind them.

“Oh my god. Anyway! I’m here! With my boyfriend --” Kent elbowed Bitty. “And we’re going to do the boyfriend tag!”

“We are,” Bitty said. “Big time. Boyfriend tag. Doing it.”

“I know a bunch of you guys have been asking me to do this for a while now, and we decided we’d finally take the time to go ahead, because...”

“Because we’re boys!” Bitty laughed. He sipped from his mug of tea, leaning back against the pillows.

“Yes,” said Kent, “we are boys. And we’re friends. So. Okay. Fine.” He held up his phone, looking at the question list before glancing at Bitty. “Where was I born?”

“Tonawanda, New York!” Bitty laughed. “At least, I think so. Because that’s where you grew up, right? So -- yeah. Tonawanda.” He glanced at Kent, whose face was placid. “No?”

“Yes,” Kent laughed. “Tonawanda. I was born there and I grew up there, too.”

“Next question!” Bitty said, bumping Kent’s shoulder with his.

“All right.” Kent glanced at him. “When’s my birthday?”

“Fourth of July,” Bitty said. Looking at the camera, he grinned. “Easy.”

“Yes,” Kent said. “And your birthday is May fifth.”

“Yes, it is,” Bitty said. They both laughed.

Kent looked down at his phone again, scanning the list of questions. “Where did we meet?”

“On here,” Bitty said. “We met on YouTube.” 

“Yeah,” Kent said, “and you messaged me first.”

“Well, y’know, you seemed like you could use a friend and --”

“-- And you had a crush on me, right?”

Bitty laughed, feeling his neck heat with a blush. “Yeah, and I had a crush on you. Kind of.”

“Aw, babe. That’s so embarrassing.”

“Shut up!” Bitty swatted at Kent’s arm. “We’re adorable.”

“We so are.” Kent looked at his phone. “Okay. What kind of television shows do I watch?”

“Well,” Bitty said, “Sweetie, as you can tell by all the songs he covers, is a throwback hoe, so he likes old stuff.” He paused. “ _ The Golden Girls _ . And, like,  _ Darkwing Duck _ .”

“Yes!” Kent laughed. “ _ The Golden Girls _ is the best!” He looked at Bitty’s face. “Oh, c’mon. You know you love it. I heard you say you liked Blanche best.”

“Lord,” said Bitty, rolling his eyes. “You think that just because she’s Southern, and -- just move on!”

Kent scrolled through the list while Bitty sipped tea. “Ooh, okay. Who said I love you first?”

“I did,” Bitty said, rubbing Kent’s thigh. “But I think you almost did, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I was just -- you know, nervous.” He paused. “You know, I’ve only had like, one boyfriend before you, and I just…”

“He didn’t want to say it first,” Bitty said. “Huh?” He pressed a kiss to Kent’s cheek. “But there were a lot of times where you were like, ‘hey babe?’ and I’d be all ‘what’ and you’d just say something like ‘never mind’ or ‘have a good night’ or something.”

“I did do that,” Kent admitted, playing with a bit of Bitty’s hair. 

They went through questions about their first date and their first kiss and some random questions about Kent’s favorite sandwich and how many covers he kept on the bed. When he got to questions that would be too revealing, Kent skipped over them. He didn’t ask any questions that would be answered with something related to hockey. “Where’s my family from?”

“Your mom is from Marseilles,” Bitty said. “France. Right?”

“Right,” Kent said. “My grandmother still lives there. I’ll take you some time, but you’re gonna have to work  _ way _ harder on your French, because my grandmother won’t speak English to you. Okay, okay.” Kent looked at the list. “Uh -- what’s my weirdest habit?”

“Oh Lord,” Bitty said. “You’re a left-to-right dresser.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you --” He gestured at his left thigh. “You put all your clothes on left side first. Like,  _ always _ .”

“Huh. I didn’t know I did that,” Kent said. He was looking down at his lap, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You know what? I guess I do.”

“Yeah, and you won’t let me sleep on the right side of the bed, either,” Bitty said.

“Okay, okay -- next question!” Kent laughed. “Oh, man. All right. What color are my eyes?”

That was such an unfair question. “Your eyes change color all the time, honey,” Bitty said. “How am I supposed to answer this?”

“What does it say on my driver’s license?”

“How am I supposed to know?” He paused. “Hazel, I think.”

“Yeah, it is. I don’t think it’s right, but that’s what they put on there. Anyways, how do I take my coffee?” Kent asked.

“With enough milk to make it khaki,” Bitty said. “Unless you’re going to Starbucks and then I think you order some kind of stupid Americano thing that tastes like dirt.” 

Kent scooted a little closer, settling his arm around Bitty again, fingers brushing the back of Bitty’s neck. “Am I a morning person or a --”

“No,” Bitty said, “you just force yourself to get up anyways.”

“And do I like the mountains or the beach better?”

“The mountains,” Bitty said. “You love the mountains.”

“Mmhmm.” Kent leaned closer. “Who’s my favorite YouTuber?”

Bitty grinned. “Me,” he said, and then Kent kissed him. “Mm -- honey, you’re gonna get our faces on here --”

Kent wound his arms around Bitty’s waist. “I’ll edit it,” he said, one hand already sliding under the hem of Bitty’s sweater.

They ended up in the bed, clothes in a pile on the floor. As Kent straddled Bitty’s lap, cupping his face gently with both hands, Bitty swallowed. Kent pressed soft kisses to his forehead, pausing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bitty said. “I just -- I think I just --” Why was he crying? His breath hitched. 

“Oh, Eric.” Kent brushed a tear away with his thumb.

“I think I thought you wouldn’t want -- this,” Bitty said. “After everything.” After Jack.

“I love you,” Kent said, “and this is everything I want.”

Bitty tangled his fingers into Kent’s hair, pulling him down into a hard kiss.

Kent was going to have to edit a lot out of that video.

That evening they cooked dinner together, both of them comfortable in Kent’s kitchen. His part of the meal finished, Bitty leaned against the counter, just watching as Kent peeled and sectioned lemons for a salad with a painful amount of precision. God, what if he’d messed this up? He could’ve made that night the last time he ever saw Kent. It was so --

“I can feel you looking at me,” Kent said.

“I like looking at you,” said Bitty.

Kent laughed. 

“I do,” Bitty said. “Honey. I’m really so--”

“No,” Kent said, finally looking up. “Don’t. We’re both responsible for that.”

_ Me more than you _ . “But --”

“I said I’d do it,” Kent said. “You didn’t make me say that. All right?”

“Yes. That’s true. But I --”

“Do you wanna be with me?” Kent asked.

“Yes,” Bitty said.  _ I want to make a life with you. _

“Good. Because I wanna be with you.” Kent dumped his tiny lemon wedges into a bowl. He made it sound so simple. “So that’s settled, then.” He handed Bitty the bowl of salad. “Put this on the table.”

“Very well, Mr. Parson,” Bitty said, turning to walk away.

Kent made it sound so simple, and as he set the salad bowl on the table, it occurred to Bitty that maybe it  _ was _ . Maybe love was a choice, consciously made. Maybe it wasn’t about always doing the right thing, about not making mistakes, about knowing every single thing your partner needed or wanted. Bitty had always thought of loving someone being like a peaceful river, but to Kent it was the ocean, storms and all. 

Bitty had always loved the ocean.

After dinner, they curled up on the sofa together, Bitty’s back pressed up against Kent’s chest. They were both full and lazy, sprawled over the cushions with Kit purring above their heads. The swish of her tail stirred Bitty’s hair every so often, just enough to remind him that she was there.

“I think I’m gonna tell my friends,” Bitty said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Oh,” said Kent. “I guess I thought they already knew.”

“I told Shitty.” Bitty twisted a little. “It’s not -- I don’t know why I didn’t tell the rest of them. It’s not you, it’s --”

“It’s fine.” Kent pressed a kiss into Bitty’s hair. “Tell who you want to tell when you want to tell them.” He leaned his chin on Bitty’s shoulder as they both fell silent, attention returning to the television. 

When Kent got up to get a glass a water, Bitty scooted around on the sofa, rearranging so that Kit could climb into his lap. He stroked a hand over her soft fur, thinking.

“Aw,” Kent said, returning with his glass. “You guys are so cute.” He settled back onto the sofa, slinging an arm back around Bitty and pulling him close.

“You can tell your team,” Bitty offered, as the television rolled over into another episode of  _ Golden Girls _ . “If you want.”

“Really?” Kent shifted so he could see Bitty’s face. “All of them?”

“Well --” Bitty paused, thinking about it for a minute. “I won’t, um. I mean I won’t sit with the wives if I come to games and make it super obvious, but… yeah. You can tell them all. You can --” He took a deep breath. “You can tell the press you have a boyfriend, if you want.”

“Babe. They’ll start looking for you,” Kent said, voice soft. “People will tear apart pictures of me with anyone trying to figure out who I’m dating.”

“I know,” Bitty said. His voice didn’t waver, and he was proud.

“What about your family?” Kent asked.

“I’ll just have to… cross that bridge when I get to it,” Bitty said. “I guess.”

“Is this you saying that you  _ want _ me to do that?” Kent asked.

“Yes,” Bitty said. “Just wait until I go home.”

His flight the following morning left ridiculously early -- it would get him home in time to make his afternoon class, which was great, but it also meant that they had to make it an early night and get some rest. Kent dropped him off at the airport before the sun was up, lingering in the lobby until Bitty had gone through security.

He posted the boyfriend tag video while Bitty was still in the air -- he landed to find a notification on his phone that SweetiePie90 had a new video up. When he opened it, Bitty couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face. They looked so… comfortable. Happy. Even though the video didn’t show either of their faces, Bitty got the sense that everyone could see how close they were. The video cut off with the kiss.

School picked right back up where he’d left it -- which meant that Bitty was, to be honest, a little behind. He hurried to his afternoon classes and then to practice, and by the time he got back to the Haus, Bitty didn’t even want to  _ think _ about his pile of homework. He had at least two papers to write and resolved to deal with them just like he usually did -- procrastination by baking. He was happily cutting butter into flour to make crust when he came up with a plan.

Three pies later -- honey peach, chocolate pecan, and blueberry crumble -- Bitty felt ready to bring his friends to the table. Coordinating schedules wasn’t that difficult, but because of senior stress levels, Bitty waited until Holster, Lardo, and Ransom were all already back at the Haus.

“So,” he said, clenching his hands under the table, “I’ve, uh. I’ve been seeing someone for a while, now.”

Ransom and Holster exchanged a  _ look _ and grinned. 

“Yeah?” said Ransom.

Lardo didn’t say anything.

Right. Best to just… rip off the bandaid, right? “It’s Kent Parson,” Bitty said, after a long moment of silence.

Holster stared. “Wait,” he said. “ _ What _ ?!”

“Kent  _ Parson _ ?” Ransom filled his mouth with pie a moment later, glancing away from Bitty.

“I thought you were dating Jack,” said Lardo, pausing with a fork in hand.

“Yeah,” Holster said.

Oh. Fuck.

“No,” Bitty said, twisting his fingers together. “Kent and I have been together for, um. For like. A year and a half?” His voice rose on the last word, nerves coming to the surface.

“Holy shit, bro,” said Ransom. “It wasn’t Jack?”

“Wait. This is Bribery Pie,” said Holster, looking down at his plate of blueberry crumble, fork halfway to his mouth. “How  _ dare _ you lure us in here to discuss your flagrant falsehoods with a Bribery Pie?!”

“Three Bribery Pies,” Ransom said.

“Flagrant falsehoods?” Lardo raised an eyebrow.

“He’s been watching some period dramas,” said Ransom.

“ _ Three _ Bribery Pies!” Holster put a bite in his mouth anyway, ignoring their discussion of his word choices. “S’not like you needed ’em. But goddamn, bro.”

“Was it the kegster?” Lardo asked, looking back to Bitty.

“No,” Bitty said. “I met him online. It’s a long story.”

“Spill, bro,” said Holster.

“Wait.  _ Wait _ ,” said Ransom. “Was Kent Parson your Boston booty call?”

“More like my Boston  _ boyfriend _ ,” Bitty said, the tips of his ears burning.

“Bro,” said Holster. “ _ Bro _ . Is this why you got to go to the Winter Classic?”

“You know it is,” said Ransom. “Fuck. You sneaky bastard.”

It was a good thing Bitty had made coffee. They sat around the kitchen table for a long time, talking about everything -- how long Bitty had known Kent, how many people knew about their relationship, Kent’s visit over the summer. When he returned to his room, Bitty flopped onto his bed. Had he ever been so tired? It didn’t seem like it.

When he picked his phone up, the notification from Kent’s Instagram caught his eye. Opening the app, Bitty found himself looking at a simple picture of a familiar lamp. It glowed in the photo, brilliant gold against the darkness of Kent’s bedroom. Scrolling to see the caption, Bitty swallowed against a lump in his throat.

_ I love you like XO You love me like XO Baby love me lights out  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you rhysiana & piesnpucks, like always, for being so helpful & great.


	33. can you be my nightingale?

The internet caught onto Kent’s boyfriend related hashtags immediately, and it didn’t surprise Bitty when he woke up to see Kent’s account inundated with questions -- and insults. Kent responded to a few, all of them respectful questions that received very short answers. Kent gave a single explanation for why he wasn’t choosing to reveal his boyfriend’s identity -- “we value privacy in our personal lives :)” -- and he didn’t entertain further questions on the subject. In fact, he’d moved on to tweet a few hockey-related things before the activity on his account ceased for the day. The insults were ignored.

Kent was being unusually graceful online. Had the Aces’ PR department instructed him to handle it that way? Was it a byproduct of his continuing work in therapy? Maybe it was easier to ignore the insulting tweets. It would make Kent look better, anyway.

It was probably good to ignore things like that -- but Bitty just couldn’t help clicking on some of the tweets to look at replies. By the time he closed the Twitter app in an effort to stop wasting time and make it to class, Bitty’s jaw was sore from gritting his teeth. Maybe he needed a break from Twitter? He didn’t really have time to check it again, anyway.

MooMaw always said that when it rained, it poured, and in Bitty’s opinion, it was a very wet spring. His classes required essays and quizzes and hockey was getting more and more serious as they raced toward the deadline to make it into the Frozen Four. Samwell’s chances weren’t as good as they had the year before, and no one wanted to say that it was because Jack was gone.

Bitty hadn’t heard from Jack since Vegas. He tried not to think about him too much, filling his time with attempts to study and lots of baking. Kent was relatively good at getting Bitty to study, mostly because he was often working on homework during their chats. Jeff hung out in the background much of the time, helping Kent with essays but not really saying much to Bitty. It was awkward with him there, but Kent had to fit studying in around hockey, therapy, and traveling. Almost all of his spare moments had to be double duty.

He still managed videos for his channel, too -- somehow. Kent covered _Stone Cold_ by Demi Lovato by request, Beyonce’s _I Was Here_ , and _Into You_ by Ariana Grande. He was putting videos out at a slower pace since he’d started school, but he still made them. It was impressive and just a little irritating.

Bitty was much less prone to working harder than God, but seeing Kent working on homework during almost all of their video chats was a decent motivator. Now that Bitty didn’t have to hide Kent from the rest of the guys, it was much easier to schedule time together. Bitty didn’t have to worry about someone walking in on him and seeing Kent when they shouldn’t, so their calls took place in the kitchen much more often. It took a little work to convince Kent that he really _could_ bake and study at the same time, but after finishing a rough draft while baking a cake, Bitty won the argument.

He didn’t tell Kent he’d put salt in the cake instead of sugar on accident.

Today’s accomplishment was meant to be an entire chapter out of Bitty’s history textbook and a strawberry tart. Truth be told, only the tart was making progress, but Kent didn’t need to know that. Bitty flipped a page in his book, glancing up at the screen.

Kent was on the bed in his hotel, laptop perched so that he could see it but it wasn’t in his way. His calculus textbook was balanced on his lap and he was chewing on the end of his pencil while he thought about something. He had yet to answer question the Bitty asked him five minutes ago.

“Baby?” Bitty smiled a little. “Did you hear me?”

“Mmph?” Kent looked up.

“I was asking what you’re doing about your finals,” Bitty said.

“Oh,” said Kent, “yeah, I’m gonna have to go up to the school to take them, but I think I can make it work. I’ll take a scratch for it if I have to and do them all in one day.”

“You can’t take a scratch so late in the season,” Bitty said. Kent was so much more dedicated than Bitty was, but even so, Bitty knew there was no way Coach Scott would give him a scratch for an April game.

“I have to have at least one day to make it to New York,” Kent said. “It’s not negotiable. I can schedule all the tests together, but --”

“That’s a lot of exams in one day,” Bitty said, frowning. “And isn’t one of them an essay?” Kent struggled with essays.

Kent flushed. “I gotta get it done,” he said. “It’ll be okay, I did them like that last time. Remember?”

Now that he mentioned it, Bitty did remember. Kent had been pretty stressed about it, actually -- most of his classes would allow his final to take place online, but the calculus hadn’t and he’d had to make it to the school to take the exam in person. He’d taken a scratch in December for his finals. “How many do you have?” he asked.

“Three. Counting the essay.” Kent set his book aside. “How many do _you_ have?”

“Me?” Bitty rubbed the back of his neck. “Well -- I don’t have to take all mine in the same day, so --”

“You still have to take them,” Kent said. He laughed.

“You know, we don’t all just adore doing our homework, Mr. Parson,” Bitty said.

“I never said--” Kent paused, looking past Bitty.

“Hey, Bitty, I’m -- ohmygodthat’sKentParson.” Chowder stopped to stare at the screen as Bitty turned around.

Kent waved with the fingers of one hand.

“We’re doing homework,” Bitty said. “What’s up? Did you need something?”

“Oh,” said Chowder, still staring, “I was just gonna see if you wanted to come to the library with me, that’s all.” He glanced at the oven. “And it smells good, so I was wondering if whatever that is was done…”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Kent said. “I don’t think much studying has happened on your end.”

Rude! “But --” the timer for the tart beeped, and Bitty went to the oven to remove it.

“You’re not very good at baking and studying, you know that?” Kent continued. “It’s really cute that you think you are, though.”

“Is that a fine?” Chowder asked.

“No,” Bitty said, as Kent frowned on screen.

“But --”

“And you won’t get any of this strawberry tart if I hear another thing about it, Christopher Chow,” Bitty said, and Chowder immediately shut his mouth.

The door behind Kent opened and Jeff stepped into the room, glancing at the computer. His face was always placid when he saw Bitty, though he at least had the manners to return polite greetings. They hadn’t resumed their text message relationship, despite Bitty’s efforts to check in with Jeff and repair the damage.

Kent checked his watch. “I gotta go, anyway,” he said, “Jeff’s gonna look at my paper and then I have that dinner. Are you --”

“I’ll go to the library with Chowder,” Bitty promised. “And we’ll talk later. Yeah?”

“Okay,” Kent said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Bitty said. He shut his laptop after disconnecting the call, trying to ignore Chowder staring at him. After a moment, he just couldn’t stand it any more. “Something I can help you with?” he asked, looking up.

“Just -- _Kent Parson_!” Chowder said.

“Yeah,” said Bitty.

“Can I have some of the tart, now?” Chowder lifted his bag. “I’ll eat it on the way.”

“It’s too hot.” Bitty stuffed all his things into his bag. “We’ll eat it when we come back.”

Studying in the library wasn’t much easier than studying in the kitchen, but a promise was a promise. Bitty set the tart out to cool with a _do not eat!!_ note before leaving the Haus with Chowder.

School was keeping everyone busy, and hockey was -- hockey was hard. Coaches Murray and Hall called for extra effort from all of the boys for the playoffs. It left him tired and irritable, but Bitty still managed to find time to finish most of his homework and watch Kent's games. The Aces were an easy pick for the NHL playoffs, and the Falcs were having a banner year as Jack performed better than expected during his rookie season.

Samwell, unfortunately, wasn’t. For the first time in four years, they didn’t make it past the first round of ECAC playoffs. They’d tried their best, but it just hadn’t happened, and as they left the ice, Bitty’s shoulders slumped under the weight of it.  The disappointment was such an unexpected chill in Bitty’s stomach, made worse by the thought that Ransom, Holster, and Lardo would all be gone next season. Kent called after the game and Bitty sat on the loading dock for a while, listening to Kent play for him and reminding himself that they had nothing to be ashamed of. You couldn’t win them all, right?

Bitty’s season might have ended, but Kent’s hadn’t. It was a relief to both of them that the Aces’ bye week was coming up -- it was difficult, spending so much time apart. After a bit of thought, Bitty cautiously suggested that Kent visit the Haus now that the team knew about their relationship. He was halfway through promising discretion during their Skype call before Kent interrupted him.

“I said yes, babe.” Kent stretched, leaning his neck to one side. “I’d love to.”

“Oh,” Bitty said. “Really?”  
"You don’t have to convince me. I have plenty of studying to do," Kent said. He grinned, eyes bright behind his glasses.

Right. Schoolwork. Of course. Kent was so serious about his classes, certainly much more so than Bitty had ever been. Damn him. “Right,” Bitty said, “because of finals.”

“Well, I was _hoping_ I’d spend time studying some other things, too.” Kent’s voice had that rough edge to it, the one that always sent a shiver of anticipation down Bitty’s spine. He leaned forward a little, biting his lower lip.

“Oh?” Bitty ran a hand through his hair. “I think I can come up with a few things that could use your attention.”

“God,” Kent said, “I can’t wait to see you. I miss you.”

Bitty filled the time until Kent’s arrival with classes, homework, baking, and the last remnants of hockey. Reviewing tape helped him see what he needed to work on during the summer break, and once he cleaned out his stall, hockey was completely over. It was Bitty’s least favorite part of the year. School was boring without hockey, and Bitty found himself in the kitchen more often than not, making jam or pies or bread. He was experimenting with different breads in preparation for Kent’s visit, wanting to make something special.

After his last class the day before Kent was meant to arrive, Bitty found himself stalled in the grocery store, staring at the aisles with a completely blank mind. Lord, what had he even come for? He hadn’t made a list. Bitty made a few laps in the store, hoping it would come to him, but after about fifteen minutes, he had to admit defeat.

He’d probably get to the Haus and remember the moment he stepped through the door.

Bitty went for the kitchen first, hoping to rummage through cupboards and jog his memory before he settled in for the night. He’d just passed the couch when he stopped in the living room, staring.

“Hi,” Kent said. He was wearing a soft blue sweater, lounging in Bitty’s kitchen like he’d been there for hours.

“Baby!” Bitty dropped his bag as he collided with Kent, wrapping arms around him. Wasn’t he going to take an exam? He wasn’t supposed to arrive until the next day! “When did you get here? How did you get in?”

“Just a little while ago,” Kent said, laughing a little. “Justin let me in.”

“Are you here all week?” Bitty bent to pick up his bag.

“Just four days,” Kent said, “like we talked about. I had to move things up a little -- exams after, instead of before.”

“Lord, you’re right. I’ve been so busy I completely forgot -- I was gonna have a pie ready for you, and I haven’t even gone grocery shopping!”

“It’s fine,” Kent said, “don’t worry about it. I’m actually pretty tired?”

“Of course you are,” Bitty said, “Lord. Go on up to my room, honey, and I’ll --” he paused. Kent was just smiling, looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Kent. “It’s just -- it’s nice to be here.”

Only having four days meant that Bitty had to have at least a loose plan of action. There were things he knew Kent would want to see -- Faber, Jerry’s, the campus in general -- as well as places Bitty wanted to take him, like Annie’s.

After they’d gotten coffee and taken a walk, Bitty and Kent settled in to record the Boyfriend Tag for Bitty’s channel. Kent sat on the bed, scooting around until he was comfortable.

“Okay, okay. Are you ready?” Bitty went ahead and started recording, even though Kent was just playing with Señor Bun in the background -- making him march along the mattress and climb the window. “Excuse me, sir,” Bitty said, settling onto the bed next to Kent.

“Yes, dear?” Kent held up Señor Bun, making him give Bitty a kiss on the cheek before settling back into Kent’s lap. “I’m ready.”

“Hey, y’all!” Bitty said brightly, waving at the camera. “Today, I’m finally here with the much-requested Boyfriend Tag!”

Kent did jazz hands.

“Now, my boyfriend likes his privacy, so this’ll be a bit different from my other videos in that I’m not gonna put his face on camera,” Bitty said. “But y’all can see him right here --” he patted Kent’s knee. “Next to me. Now. Lemme just see what some of these questions are…”

Kent cleared his throat.

“Where did we meet, honey?” Bitty asked.

“You sent me a message,” Kent said, “on YouTube.”

“I did,” Bitty said. “And you were very flirtatious.”

“I was,” Kent admitted. “But --” he gestured at Bitty. “Look!”

Bitty laughed. “What’s my eye color?”

“Brown.”

“Where am I from?”

“Madison,” Kent said, “Georgia.”

“And what’s my favorite movie?”

“ _Steel Magnolias_ ,” Kent said, and when Bitty opened his mouth to protest, he raised a hand. “Don’t try to deny it, babe. You fucking love that movie. You’re a walking cliché, and I love you.”

Actually, when Bitty thought about it, it was true. _Steel Magnolias_ reminded him of hot summers and iced tea and the way his grandmother sounded when she prayed. He did love that movie. Clearing his throat, he looked at the list of questions. “Um. Who’s my favorite singer?”

Kent laughed. “Seriously? Beyoncé.”

Bitty’s list of questions differed from Kent’s; he asked about their first kiss, his favorite cereal, and his biggest fear. He paused when he got to some of the questions he’d picked simply because they’d been together a while. “Uh --”

“What? What’s the next one?” Kent was toying with Señor Bun again. “C’mon. Hit me.”

“Who’s the dominant one in our relationship?” Bitty asked.

Kent looked at him, remaining quiet. “You are,” he said, after a minute.

“And what do we usually argue about?”

“We don’t _usually_ argue,” Kent said. His hands tightened around Señor Bun.

“Well, yeah, I know, but --”

“But it’s me,” Kent said, cutting him off. “To answer the question. We argue about me, and how I can’t --” he stopped. “No, that’s not right.” He chewed his lip. “How I _don’t_ say no to things when I don’t want to do them. Or -- or whatever. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, brushing fingers over Kent’s thigh. “I know what you mean.”

The rest of the questions were easier, asking things like what books Bitty liked, what kind of cake he liked on his birthday, and how Kent met his parents. When they finished, Kent pressed a kiss to Bitty’s cheek. “I’m hungry,” he said.

“I can fix you something,” Bitty said. “What sounds good?”

“Mmm…” Kent kissed Bitty’s neck. “I don’t know.”

“C’mon.” Bitty pulled away, standing up. “How d’you feel about spaghetti?”

“I love spaghetti.” Kent set Señor Bun down.

In the kitchen, Bitty managed to get two pots on the stove and the base for a homemade sauce thrown together before Kent’s hands slid around his waist and he pulled in close, pressing a kiss to the side of Bitty’s neck. “Mr. Parson!”

“Yes, Mr. Bittle?” Kent thumbed Bitty’s hip.

Lord, he smelled good. “I am _trying_ to make your dinner, sir,” Bitty said. “Stop being distracting.” He swatted at Kent before grabbing the package of spaghetti and tossing some into the water. That sauce was going to burn if he wasn’t careful!

Kent trailed gentle fingers down Bitty’s arm. “ _You’re_ being distracting,” he said. “You know I’ve always wanted to fuck you in the kitchen.”

It was a miracle Bitty didn’t burn the pasta, too. Hell, it was a miracle either of them even ate dinner.

As Kent dumped dirty dishes into the sink and turned the faucet on, a spray of water from an ill-placed spoon hit him in the chest. “Oh -- fuck!” Kent laughed. “Had that coming, I guess?” He turned and Bitty took a breath. _His shirt is not that wet, Bittle, get it together._

“What?” Kent took a step closer.

“I missed you,” Bitty said, and Kent bent down to kiss him.

He’d left the water running, but Bitty didn’t care. He pushed them toward the counter and Kent let him, hands gripping at Bitty’s hips. He was hard and hot under Bitty’s hands, the wet parts of his shirt clinging to his skin, and Bitty never wanted to stop kissing him. They were crushed together against the kitchen counter, one of Kent’s legs pushed between Bitty’s, his hands tight on Bitty’s ass.

Bitty vaguely registered the sound of the front door, but Kent was sliding a hand up under his shirt and Bitty didn’t have a lot of room for thought as Kent’s teeth found his earlobe. God, he’d missed him. Curling his fingers into Kent’s hair, Bitty tilted his head back.

“Oh, fuck -- _Bitty_?!” It was Ransom.

“FINE!” Holster yelped from the doorway. “FINE! Two fines! Extra fine!”

“Damn, Bitty!”

“Oh my _God_!” Bitty shoved Kent away from him. Lord, they’d been caught in the kitchen.

Kent tugged at the hem of his shirt, clearing his throat. “Uh -- fine?”

“Money,” said Dex, brandishing the jar. “Those were some _serious_ offenses. Pay up, boys.”

Kent stared at him for a minute. “Are you serious?” he asked.

“Honey,” Bitty said, “it’s f--”

“We have one place,” Kent said slowly, turning to look at Bitty, “ _one place_ , Eric. I can’t -- I can’t even take you out to _dinner_ at home. I can’t hold hands with you, I can’t -- And now you’re telling me I have to _pay_ for the privilege of kissing my boyfriend in his own _house_?”

“I -- it’s not like that,” Bitty said. “Everyone pays fines for cutesy behavior.”

“Everyone does, bro,” Holster said, glancing at Ransom. “It’s not personal or anything.”

Kent left the kitchen.

“Didn’t you tell him about the fines?” Dex asked.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Holster said, “fuck. Everybody has fines.”

“Oh, I know,” Bitty said. “I know. It’s all right, y’all, I’ll go talk to him.”

Bitty found him in the bedroom, sitting down and looking at his hands. “Sweetpea?”

Kent glanced up at him. “Hey.”

Bitty sat on the bed next to him. “They didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “We just need a new heater, that’s all.”

“I know.” Kent bit his lower lip. “I’m -- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve, um.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I’m not good at thinking before I talk.”

“Your feelings were hurt,” Bitty murmured.

“Yes,” Kent said. “It’s stupid. It’s just that I want -- I want to feel normal. Even though I know that -- I know this is supposed to be normal.”

He wanted to feel normal. He wanted to hold hands and sit together and kiss Bitty in the kitchen. They didn’t have anywhere else to do that, because even in Vegas, they were hiding. They couldn’t be affectionate in public because it might out Bitty. Bitty laced his fingers through Kent’s. “I know,” he said. “We can. We will. Just -- you know, the whole fine thing _is_ normal here.”

“It feels like I have to -- I don’t know, like I have to pay for being gay,” Kent said, voice soft. “Because I don’t already do that every single day.”

“Oh, honey,” Bitty said. “I know.”

Kent took a breath. “I need a minute,” he said.

“Okay.” Bitty kissed Kent’s temple. “You want me to check back with you in a little bit?”

Kent nodded, but caught at Bitty’s wrist when he stood. “Don’t apologize to them for me,” he said.

“I won’t.”

Kent returned to the kitchen about ten minutes later. He leaned in the doorway, crossing his arms. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey, man, look,” Holster said, looking up from his plate. “I wasn’t trying to piss you off or anything, but --”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Kent said. “I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you guys. It’s cool. We’re cool.”

“Okay,” said Ransom, “because if it’s not cool we can talk about it?”

“Nah,” Kent said. “Thanks. Just -- can I preemptively pay a bunch of fines?”

Holster laughed. “Yeah, man. How many?”

Kent checked his wallet. “Uh -- how’s five hundred?”

“Five hundred?”

“Dollars,” Kent said. “American ones.”

“It’ll do,” Dex said. He gestured toward the living room. “Jar’s in there.”

Bitty had worried about the visit being boring for Kent, but it turned out that Kent’s appreciation for boring things extended to college campuses. He spent much of the time Bitty was in class in the library, working on his own schoolwork and Skyping with Jeff about his essays. The bye week was the perfect time to either catch up or work ahead on classes, and with finals right around the corner, Kent was just as worried about his as Bitty was.

More, honestly. After all, he’d be taking his exams as soon as he left.

Kent was napping when Bitty returned from class, face buried in Bitty’s pillow and Señor Bun tucked into one elbow. He’d scheduled a telephone appointment with his therapist that morning, and elected to stay at the Haus and nap instead of studying in the afternoon. Bitty shut his door, wincing when it clicked. Kent shifted in the bed, bare shoulders hunching a little. He’d be leaving in the morning.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Bitty said.

“It’s fine.” Kent rolled onto his back, rubbing his face with one hand. “What time is it? I thought I set an alarm.”

“I only just got back,” Bitty said.

“Mmm.” Kent held out an arm, and as Bitty curled up in bed next to him, he let out a long sigh.

“You okay?” Bitty tilted his head, trying to look at Kent’s face.

“Just don’t want to leave,” Kent said. “It’s my first time being in _your_ place.”

“It does seem like it went by fast, doesn’t it?” Bitty shifted, settling his head onto Kent’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Also, I miss my cat.”

Bitty laughed. “You’ll see her soon enough,” he said. “But we still have one night.”

“We do, don’t we?” Kent twisted a little, dragging fingers down Bitty’s spine. “Hey. We don’t get fines in your room, right?”

“Right.” Bitty grinned.

“What about fines for being too loud?”

“Oh my God,” Bitty said.

Once Kent was gone, Bitty’s bed felt impossibly large. Their busy schedules picked right up where they’d left off, with Kent going up to take his exams before heading home to Vegas. Coming off the bye week was difficult, and Kent would be even more hockey-focused than usual for the next few days.

Lardo’s senior art show was the perfect distraction from playoff and exam stress -- for Bitty, at least. He took the opportunity to put on his grey suit, snapping a few pictures for Kent before heading out. Ransom and Holster were meeting him there, but Bitty walked down with Chowder and Nursey, listening to their speculations about what Lardo’s art might be like that year.

“The paintings were _huge_ last time,” Chowder said.

“They’ll probably be huge this time, too,” said Nursey.

They were not disappointed. Once they’d arrived and milled around a little, Bitty went to look for Lardo -- and spotted, instead, a very familiar figure in a dark blue suit.

“Oh,” Bitty said, “Jack. Hi.”

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Um -- you’re here for Lardo’s art show, aren’t you?” He smiled. “It’s going to be really great.”

“Yeah.” Jack swallowed. “You been okay?”

“Yes,” said Bitty. “I’m fine. Just fine! And y’all made the playoffs, I saw, so you’ve been working hard over there in Providence, huh?”

Small talk was so awkward. Jack gave him media answers for a few minutes before they parted, both of them milling through the room, looking at art. Shitty came down for the show, too, and Bitty had never been so glad to see him in his _life_.

Talking to Shitty inevitably meant talking to Jack. Or, rather, Shitty always seemed able to _get_ Jack to talk. Things seemed almost normal again as the three of them huddled together, but Shitty abandoned them as soon as he saw Lardo, leaving Jack and Bitty on their own again.

Lord. What should he say? Should Bitty ask about the Falconers some more? Talking about work was so boring and impersonal, though, and Bitty didn’t want to have a boring and impersonal relationship with Jack. He bit his lip.

“So,” Jack said, after a stretch of silence. “Is everything -- are things okay?”

“Oh,” said Bitty, “yes. Of course. Everything’s fine. He’s doing well and we’re just fine and, um. Well, nothing’s worse off, anyway, I guess I’d say.” Reaching out, Bitty laid a hesitant hand on Jack’s arm. Fuck, he should just say it, right? “I, um. I miss you, though.”

“I miss you, too,” Jack said, looking down at Bitty’s hand.

“Well -- you don’t have to. Can I text you?” Bitty asked, pulling his hand back.

Jack hesitated. After a minute, he looked back up at Bitty’s face. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much piesnpucks, rhysiana, and yoursummerfrost for your time and effort helping me with this chapter! i truly appreciate each one of you.


	34. maybe on the flipside i could catch you again

Being told he could text Jack again and actually  _ texting Jack again _ were two entirely different things, in Bitty’s book. Should he wait? Should he text to tell Jack it was nice to see him?

Lord. Texting etiquette. Why didn’t he know more about texting etiquette?

In the end, he decided to text after a few days had gone by. There was no  _ way _ Jack was texting first.

_ Hey _ , he sent. Biting his lip, Bitty stared at the message. That definitely wasn’t good enough. Chewing his lip, he typed out  _ It was great seeing you at the art show! :)  _ and pushed send.

Better.

_ Hey _ , Jack sent back.

_ How’s it going? :)  _

_ Fine _

Bitty stared at the little dots under Jack’s message. What else was he typing?

_ It was nice seeing you, too _

This… was going to take some work.

It wasn’t like Jack and Bitty hadn’t heard from each other at  _ all _ . Jack was still in the groupchat with all the guys, and he did respond to messages there. No doubt he’d noticed the long string of chirps that followed Kent and Bitty’s escapade in the kitchen, but he hadn’t commented on any of them. Bitty had made sure to wish him good luck in games, but they hadn’t had a real -- or private -- conversation. He was sure that Jack still listened to his dad rock and watched documentaries, but Bitty didn’t want to ask about those things. He was going to have to go with the path of least resistance: hockey.

And it worked.

They ended up texting almost every day, talking about Jack’s workouts and games and what kind of pie Bitty was making and how he was doing with his exams. At first they’d danced around talking about Kent, because talking about Kent meant talking about everything else, but Bitty found that he couldn’t help mentioning him now and then. After saying something about his French class, Bitty began receiving a French phrase of the day from Jack. They were useful, once he translated them, but Jack expected him to  _ use them with him _ , which Bitty hadn’t counted on. It was good practice, if not a little frustrating.

With the academic year winding down just as NHL playoff season was picking up, both of them were very busy. Their texting often included details about Jack’s games or what he was reading, mundane little details that Bitty realized he’d missed hearing in their absence. It was an odd, but nice, way to split his time, texting Jack during the day and waiting until the evening to talk to Kent on the West Coast.

“I talked to Jack today,” Bitty said, sitting at his desk in front of a textbook. He’d taken a break from cramming to have a video call with Kent. The familiar brightness of Kent’s kitchen was comforting. “He asked about you.”

Kent laughed. “Yeah? Worried we’ll kick their asses in playoffs?”

Bitty laughed. “No, I mean -- you know, he wanted to make sure you’re doing okay. On account of how upset you were, I mean.”

“Oh,” Kent said. “Yeah. Well. You tell him I’m fine?”

“Yes,” Bitty said. 

Clearing his throat, Kent glanced up at the screen. “How was he, then? You go out there?”

What? “No,” said Bitty. “I, uh. You know, he told me not to visit any more, and I didn’t want to… I don’t know, I didn’t ask. We’re just texting.”

“Mmm.” Kent was cutting vegetables for his salad. They often talked over dinner preparations or at bedtime, depending on where Kent was. “Is that, um. Is that what you want?”

“What?” Bitty leaned back against his pillows.

“Not seeing him.” Kent tossed carrots into the bowl with his lettuce. “That’s what you want?”

_ It’s not _ , Jack had said. “No,” Bitty said, after a moment of silence. “But he thought it was best.”

“Mmm.” Kent was quiet for a moment as he washed some vegetables. “Y’know, um. You don’t,” he said, slowly slicing the tomatoes, “have to keep avoiding Jack. In person, I mean.”

“What, as long as you come first?” Bitty asked, keeping his tone light.

“Yes,” said Kent, in the most matter-of-fact tone Bitty had ever heard him use. He looked up at the camera, face serious. “That’s exactly how I feel. I mean, I --” He swallowed, setting the knife down. “I’ve talked to Brian about it,” he admitted. 

Oh. Damn. Kent didn’t often tell Bitty what he talked about with his therapist. When they did discuss it, it was because Brian had said something Kent thought was important or he’d come to some kind of conclusion that he wanted to share. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Kent had wanted to discuss the threesome -- well, the almost-threesome -- with Brian.

Still. Hearing about it made the back of Bitty’s neck all hot. What must Brian think of him?

“A lot, actually,” Kent continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I’m sorry to be selfish like this, to need you to say that I come first, but -- I am. I do. And there it is.”

“It’s okay, baby,” Bitty said. It didn’t seem all that selfish. Kent came first, anyway, whether he asked for it or not. That was just how things were. “I’d rather you were honest about how you feel.”

Kent shrugged one shoulder. “I hate you being alone out there,” he said.

“I’m not,” said Bitty.

Kent looked up at the camera, saying nothing.

“All right,” Bitty conceded, “I miss him, okay? Yes. And I liked spending time with him. But he --” Jack thought it was inappropriate. That or he thought they weren’t capable of just being friends, and Bitty was honestly… a little upset about that.

“You can see him without me,” Kent said. “I mean, I -- like before? Except, um.” He looked back down at his tomatoes and cleared his throat. “Except I don’t expect you to, um. I mean, you can -- you guys can -- just, without me? You know?”

Bitty’s neck went hot. “Oh,” he said. God, Kent meant sex. Holy shit. “ _ Oh _ . Um. I -- well --”

“Or not,” Kent said, tossing salad things together, “if you don’t want to. I’m just, um. I’m just -- I’m letting you know that the option is there. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bitty said. “Like -- like, um. Polyamory?”

“Yeah,” said Kent. “Brian gave me this book to read awhile ago, uh.  _ More Than Two _ ?” He glanced up again. “It took me some time to… to get through it, but. I think you should read it.”

A book, huh? How long had Brian and Kent been talking about this, then? “All right, honey,” Bitty said. “I can do that.”

“Just -- look, I don’t want to talk about Jack any more right now, but just… let me know,” Kent said. “Whatever it is that you decide. Yeah?”

“Of course I will, baby.” Bitty hugged Señor Bun. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always,” Kent said. 

“What did Brian say?”

“About what?” Kent carried his computer and his salad into his living room and settled onto his sofa while Bitty chewed his lower lip. 

God, how should he phrase this? “About, um. About what happened,” he said.

“Um --” Kent looked down at his salad. “Brian and I talk a lot about… me,” he said. “And when we talked about that, he reminded me that saying ‘no’ to one thing gives you the opportunity to say ‘yes’ to something else, I guess.” 

_ The opportunity to say yes to something else.  _ Once they’d said good night, Bitty lay awake in his bed for a while, staring up at the ceiling. Before he fell asleep, he bought the ebook version of  _ More Than Two _ , downloading it to his phone.

It gave him a lot to think about.

Before he knew it, it was the hockey banquet. As Bitty headed off to the golf course with the guys, that familiar mix of excitement and sadness swirled in his stomach. All the boys cleaned up nicely, of course, and the banquet was always a good time. It was just -- it was sad.

It had all gone by so  _ fast. _ It seemed like only yesterday Bitty was bringing a pecan pie to his first kegster. When he’d thought about it, they’d really had a great year. Looking around the table at the banquet, Bitty saw faces he trusted, people he cared about, people who’d always had his back. People who had helped him become the person he wanted to be.

After the banquet, life would become one big downhill slide. Reading week was followed by finals week, which was followed by graduation, and then -- then it was over. He wouldn’t see any of the boys over the summer. When school started again, Ransom, Holster, and Lardo would all be gone, and Bitty?

Bitty would be a senior.

The banquet was as boisterous as ever, a whole team of college hockey players all in one hall wearing suits and trying to eat a fancy meal. All the usual awards went out -- Chowder got the John Carlisle for enthusiasm and devotion, and Bitty couldn’t think of a better person to have received it. It was the last award to go out before the captaincy.

Coach Hall cleared his throat. They’d gone through most of their awards already, “And for the second time in Samwell Men’s Hockey history, by unanimous vote from the team, the captain for next school year is… Eric R. Bittle.”

Wait. What?

Pushing away from the table, Bitty took a breath. Lord, he had to go give a speech. He hadn’t planned anything. Pushing himself upright, he had to stand for a moment before he could begin to make his way to the front. His eyes were burning, and by the time he had the small plaque in hand, a few tears had already spilled over.

“Y’all, I --” his breath hitched. “I’m speechless!”

After all, what could he say?

As soon as he got back to the Haus, Bitty raced upstairs, already dialing Kent’s number. When Kent answered, he sounded a little breathless, like he’d been laughing. “Hey, you!”

“Baby!” Bitty’s eyes were burning again. Couldn’t he at least get the words  _ out _ before crying?” “I --”

“You okay?” Kent’s voice sounded closer.

“Yes,” Bitty said, “yes, I’m fine, I’m --  _ I got the C _ , baby, I really --”

Kent let out an excited yelp, cutting him off. “Eric!! That’s so fucking awesome!”

Bitty laughed. “It is pretty awesome,” he said, “I can’t believe it.”

“I can,” Kent said. “I’m so proud of you, fuck. That’s so great.”

“This year has just been… wild,” Bitty said. “I can’t believe Ransom and Holster and Lardo are all gonna be gone. What if I’m -- what if I’m not a good captain?”

“You’re going to be a  _ great _ captain,” Kent said. He paused. “For your trouble, though, how ’bout I let you pick what I do with my Cup day?” Another pause. “ _ If _ we win.”

“You’re going to win,” Bitty said. “And I would just  _ die _ .”

“Well, I’m not gonna let you do it if you’re gonna  _ die _ , Mr. Bittle.” There was rustling in the background, the sound of a door opening.  _ Lord _ , he missed that boy. How could summer seem so far away and so soon all at the same time?

“Very well, Mr. Parson, I should be delighted to accept your invitation,” Bitty said, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “Should it arrive, of course.”

“Of course,” Kent said. 

Bitty cleared his throat. “I’d just want you to spend it with me, anyway,” he said, voice soft. “Just with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know it’s not, y’know, some really cool thing you could do with it, but --”

“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do,” Kent said. “I love you.” 

The rest of April slid by in a blur. On the morning of his birthday, Bitty woke up to a phone call from Kent, followed by one from his mother. He got a cake from the boys and a bunch of Ivy Park clothing from Kent, which he was sure would make for some  _ excellent _ selfies for… personal use. It was still the middle of the end of exam week, so he didn’t have the day off -- but it was a great day, nonetheless, full of celebration.

An evening text from Jack surprised him; Jack had a very strict routine. Bitty was just finishing the dishes from supper when he glanced at his phone. 

_ Je pense à toi. _

Bitty frowned. Phrase of the day? But he’d already gotten a phrase of the day earlier. Thinking carefully, he translated the phrase:  _ I am thinking about you. _

Bitty took a breath. They’d only been texting, so far. He hadn’t really dared to try calling, because he hadn’t asked for permission to call. And this was -- this was  _ definitely _ flirting, wasn’t it? It had to be. Should he call? Should he just text back?

No. He was doing it. He was going to call. He had the time to spare, anyway, because he didn’t feel like studying and the Aces had a West Coast game. Ducking out of the kitchen, Bitty headed for the stairway. Bitty chewed his lower lip as he pushed to dial before lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Jack,” Bitty breathed. “Hi.”

“ _ Bonne fête _ ,” Jack said.

Bitty laughed. “Thank you,” he said. 

“Having a good day?” Jack asked.

“I am,” Bitty said. “Are you? All hockey and workouts and playoffs over there? I’m surprised you were thinking of little old me.”

It was Jack’s turn to laugh. “Yes,” he said. “But I wouldn’t forget your birthday.”

“That’s very sweet of you.” Bitty climbed the stairs to his bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind himself. 

“I can’t believe I found out you got the C in the  _ groupchat _ ,” Jack said. “I thought we were closer than that, Bittle.”

“Well -- I -- you know, I’ve been real busy, and so have  _ you _ , Mr. NHL Player, and I wasn’t sure if you wanted me callin’ you on account of -- of everything,” said Bitty. He winced when that sentence led to a little silence on the other end of the line.

“You could’ve called,” Jack said.

“Yeah?” Bitty felt relief uncurl in his stomach. Lord. “Could I?”

“If you wanted.” Jack paused. “My first instinct was going to be to invite you to a game here, for your birthday,” he said. “Playoffs, and all.”

_ Playoffs _ . Gosh. “And?” Bitty asked, after it was clear Jack wasn’t saying anything else.

“I realized that I was just wanting to see you,” Jack said. “And I don’t know if I can do this, Bittle. I -- I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Bitty said. He sat on his bed. “But, you know, we don’t have to--”

“We agreed that it was best if we didn’t see each other any more,” Jack said.

“No,  _ you _ said that you thought it was best.” Bitty swallowed. “I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Bittle, I’m not --” Jack let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t want to come between you and Kent. I really don’t. And I feel… bad, about this, about wanting to see you and talking to you like this. It’s not --”

“He said I don’t have to stop seeing you,” Bitty said, cutting Jack off.

A long pause followed. “What does that mean?” Jack asked.

Right. How was he supposed to explain this? “Kent and I talked about a lot of things,” Bitty said, “and one of them was my relationship with you.”

“We’re not  **in** a relatio--”

“We could be, though,” Bitty said, interrupting Jack. “We could be. He doesn’t want to be involved with you, but that doesn’t mean  **I** can’t.”

Jack was quiet. 

“We talked about this in pretty explicit terms, Jack.” Bitty’s face heated with a blush he was glad Jack couldn’t see. “I’m sure about this, and I’m sure about how Kent feels about it.” When Jack didn’t say anything, Bitty took a breath. 

Right. He was going to have to just… rip off the bandaid. “Do you know what polyamory is?”

“No,” said Jack.

“It’s, um. Loving more than one person,” Bitty said. “Having multiple romantic relationships, I guess, but everyone knows about each other.”

“So I would be, what, your second boyfriend?” Jack asked.

“If you want to be,” Bitty said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much, rhysiana & piesnpucks, as always, for your help & friendship. i appreciate y'all so much.
> 
> [More Than Two](https://www.morethantwo.com/) is a real book about ethical polyamory -- it's also a website where you can find resources on polyamory. You may also be interested in [The Ethical Slut](https://www.amazon.com/Ethical-Slut-Third-Practical-Relationships/dp/0399579664/ref=pd_lpo_sbs_14_t_0?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=132F6EFXVF1F24STWA3H) for further poly-related reading.
> 
> Thanks for continuing on this journey! We're not done yet!


	35. let me get mine, you get yours

“Is it okay if I want to think about it?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” said Bitty. “It’s fine. It’s -- I just want to spend time with you. Like before.”

“Just not in my guest room.” It was a statement, not a question.

Bitty’s cheeks burned a little. “I’ll sleep on your sofa if you want,” he said, “or come back to school after we hang out. It doesn’t have to -- I wasn’t expecting --” He rubbed his face with one hand. “We don’t have to jump into anything, that’s what I’m trying to say. Just if it, um. If it  _ happens _ , it’s okay. That’s all.” He wasn’t sure he  _ could _ just jump right into something, anyway. They both needed time to sort their feelings out.

Jack took a breath. “I have a home game this weekend,” he said. “Do you want to, uh. You wanna come down?”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “It’ll be great to see you!”

“Yeah,” said Jack. “Yeah.”

Bitty caught the earliest train he could to visit Providence. Jack had offered to send him a car, but something about that just didn’t seem quite right. The plan was that he would sleep in the guest room, anyway -- or on Jack’s sofa. He was visiting as a friend. No pressure.

Yeah. No pressure.

When he got to Jack’s apartment, Bitty bit his lip, hesitating before knocking on the door. Lord. He was doing this, wasn’t he? For real. 

Raising his hand, Bitty knocked on the door just once before Jack pulled it open, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “Bittle,” he said.

“Hey, Jack!” Bitty grinned. He stepped inside as Jack stepped back. The apartment still looked the same, not that Bitty had expected otherwise. It was  _ Jack _ , after all. What would change?

“So!” Bitty turned, lifting the bag in his hand. “I thought,” he said, smiling up at Jack, “that we’d start with pie.”

The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched a little. “Of course you did,” he said.

“I brought most of what I need,” Bitty said. 

“Most?” Jack walked toward his kitchen.

Grinning, Bitty followed him. “Well, I assumed you had eggs and butter.” 

“Knowing you’re coming over,” Jack said, “I think anybody would have eggs and butter.” He left the room for a moment, returning with combed hair. 

Bitty pulled his baking things out of his bag, lining them up on the counter. He could stash the rest of the things he’d brought in the guest room. With Jack staring at him, his neck felt hot. Lord, what should he say? “Ransom and Holster are moving to Boston after graduation,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” said Jack.

Right. Jack was in the groupchat. Of course he knew. Bitty laughed. “Lord, I don’t think I have any news for you at all, then,” he said. “Y’all’ve just been playing hockey and working towards the Finals and all, and I’ve just been… studying.”

“You’ve been studying?” Jack had that small smile at the corner of his mouth, the cute one he got when he thought he was being clever.

“Oh, hush,” Bitty said. “I  _ have _ been.”

They spent the night in, watching movies and cooking dinner, laughing over Jack’s attempts to help Bitty bake. He was better than he’d been when they’d first baked together, but… well. It was calm and warm and personal and whatever worries Bitty had had about being alone with Jack again melted away after the third time Jack noticed an irritating historical inaccuracy in _ U-571 _ . In between movies, Bitty baked muffins and checked his email, opening his laptop on the coffee table.

He hadn’t realized how late it was until Kent called. 

“Hi, baby,” Bitty said, propping the laptop up on his legs. It was already eleven, Jack would be going to bed soon. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn’t gone to bed earlier. “It’s so late!”

“Hey,” Kent said. He yawned, already in bed in his hotel in New York. His hair was still damp from the shower -- he must’ve come back to his hotel as soon as possible after their game. “I didn’t want to call you too early, in case you were busy.”

Jack leaned over the sofa and Kent glanced at him, eyes dark grey behind his glasses. “Zimmermann,” he said.

“Parson.” 

“Bittle,” said Bitty, and Kent laughed. The corner of Jack’s mouth quirked into a smile.

“He was only busy making muffins,” Jack said. “Berry. You could’ve called.” He left the living room a moment later, disappearing down his hallway.

“I love muffins,” Kent said.

“You could’ve called earlier,” Bitty said. 

Kent fidgeted. “I just didn’t want to bother you when you’re, you know.” He waved a hand. “Busy.”

Right, busy. So he’d said. Bitty laughed. “It’s not a big deal,” he said. “We were just watching movies.”

“And making muffins,” Kent said. “What kind were they?”

“Triple berry oat muffins,” Bitty said, and when Kent’s eyes widened behind his glasses, Bitty laughed. “I’ll make them for you when I come out there,” he promised. Pausing, he thought about Kent’s day. It was a roadie, so -- “You boys watch  _ Darkwing Ducks _ ?”

“Duck, Eric,” Kent said. “It’s duck. Singular.” He paused, stretching both arms up over his head. “Yeah. Well, just one episode, ’cause for some reason I’m exhausted today? But we’re almost done with it, which means I get to pick the show we watch next. I was thinking about watching  _ Grantchester _ . It’s a departure from cartoons, but it looks kinda good.”

“Oh, the murder mystery one?” Bitty grinned. Holster had watched it; he was familiar. It would be quite a different pick for Kent. The main guy was pretty cute. “You’ll love it.”

“Yeah, Jeff’s not convinced, but --”

“But he loved  _ Downton Abbey _ ,” Bitty said.

“I know!” said Kent. “That’s what I thought, too. Plus he said he’ll kill me if I make him watch  _ Golden Girls _ again.” He yawned again. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Long day?” Bitty balanced the computer on his knees. “You’re in bed early.”

“Yeah, I’m just --” Kent paused, and then shook his head. “It’s fine. Are you having a nice time?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “I mean, just hanging out, but it’s nice.”

“Good.” Picking at the hem of his sheet, Kent chewed his lip for a moment. “D’you want me to read to you, or, um. I guess you’re not going to bed yet, huh?”

It sounded like Jack was in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Bitty could hear water running. “I will be soon,” he said. “Can I call you back in a little while and we’ll do it then?”

“Yeah,” said Kent, “okay.”

“I’m staying in the guest room,” Bitty said. 

“I didn’t --”

“I know. I’m just --” Bitty took a breath. “I’m just telling you, sweetpea. It’d be awfully soon for anything to change. And this is… I don’t know if Jack is even interested in, um. What we talked about? So I don’t want you to think that I’m doing something I’m not, you know. Doing.”

“There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere,” Kent said.

“I’m serious, honey.”

“I know.” Kent swallowed. “Thanks for being honest with me. This is -- awkward. But I’m not upset.”

Bitty smiled. “Okay. I’m gonna go brush my teeth. I’ll call you in a few minutes, yeah?”

“All right.” Kent paused. “Call my phone, I’m gonna put this thing away.”

“Of course, baby. I love you,” Bitty said.

“I know.” Kent hung up first.

Bitty went to Jack's game two days later, but found himself splitting his time between the action on the ice and the updates on his phone. Kent was playing Anaheim back home in Vegas, one of the last in their series. Bitty’s leg bounced as he checked the app, expecting some bad blood between the two teams, but to his surprise the game was relatively peaceable. 

All the players seemed to be avoiding penalties as much as possible. The game was fast-paced and aggressive, but Kent was getting away with a lot less checking than Bitty had expected. Anaheim was down by two in the series, which meant they had more to lose than Vegas did, and the game reflected that. As he looked at some replays during the break between periods of Jack’s game, Bitty had the feeling that the Aces were going to get a locker room talking-to. One of those Anaheim goals was  _ completely _ ridiculous -- the Aces’ defense hadn’t exactly shown up to the game.

In the end, Vegas lost their game while Providence won theirs. Bitty celebrated just a little with Jack, but the truth was that Providence had more games to win and Jack needed to stay in top form. They could celebrate for real if Jack won the Cup --

Bitty wasn’t sure how to feel, thinking about that.

Once Jack had gone to bed, Bitty settled into the guest room and called Kent on Skype. He answered from a blanket cocoon on his sofa, laptop propped up on the coffee table. “Hey, you,” he said. For a guy who’d just lost a game, he seemed much more relaxed than Bitty had expected. Then again, the Aces  _ were _ up in their series.

Jeff appeared behind the sofa, carrying a plate. “Hi, Eric.” He was no longer ignoring Bitty when he was on video calls. He’d started answering Bitty’s texts, even though his answers were desultory and contained  _ no _ emojis whatsoever. It was better than nothing.

“Hi, Jeff,” Bitty said. “Is your head better?” He’d had a migraine again last time Bitty spoke to him.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Kevin jumped up on the sofa next to Kent and licked his face. “Kevin, no!”

Bitty laughed. 

“C’mon, Kev,” said Jeff. “Leave Kent and his baby alone.” He waved at the camera as Kevin jumped down from the sofa. “’Night, Eric.”

“Good night, Jeff!” Bitty smiled. No doubt Jeff was just staying in Kent’s guest room -- a room that Bitty had, in all honesty, just come to think of as  _ Jeff’s room _ , anyway. Clearing his throat, stared at the camera. “His baby?” He raised his eyebrows just as a tiny, but unmistakable, mew escaped the blankets.

“Um,” said Kent, just as a pair of fluffy ears poked up from the blankets under his chin. He gave Bitty a crooked smile. “I got some mail from Keats,” he said.

“Uh huh,” Bitty said. “Is that a  _ cat _ ?”

“He’s just a baby,” Kent said, “look.” He wiggled the blankets around and lifted a furry little grey and white kitten with a chubby belly. It let out another mew.

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” Bitty said. Damn the distance! Why couldn’t he pet the kitten? “Did Keats just like, send you that cat?” How did it get there from Chicago? What a  _ weird guy _ . Both Jack and Kent had mentioned it, but Bitty hadn’t really believed them.

Clearly, he should have.

“He bought me this cat, yes. I didn’t ask for details, ’cause it’s Keats and that’s pointless.” Kent settled the kitten onto his lap. “I’m naming him Purrs. He is perfect.” 

“Does Kit like him?” Bitty wiggled his fingers at Purrs.

“Uh,” said Kent, “no. I mean, not yet. But she  _ will _ .” He glanced down at the cat in his lap. “Won’t she, buddy?” He rubbed the kitten’s head with one finger.

“Oh, I can’t wait to meet him.” Bitty looked back up to Kent’s face. “You sure you have time for a kitten right now, baby?”

“It’s not like a puppy,” Kent said. “It’ll be fine.”

Kent went nuts with Purrs on his Instagram. Bitty had to laugh -- Purrs in Kent’s hockey bag, Purrs on the sofa, Purrs and Kit glaring at each other, Purrs asleep with his chubby little belly up. It was adorable. 

They were drawing closer and closer to the Stanley Cup finals. The Aces were doing well, poised to move forward into round three of the playoffs. As Bitty settled into his bed, balancing his computer on his lap, he opened up Skype.

Kent picked up instantly, already in bed but holding a large red mug. Bitty would bet five dollars it was mint tea from Jeff. That stuff was magical.

“Hi, sweetie,” Bitty said.

“Hey, you.” Kent fidgeted a little, rolling his shoulders. “How’s your day?”

“Fine,” Bitty said. “I mean, graduation is really soon? And everyone’s worried about finals, so --”

“You guys are taking yours pretty late,” Kent said. 

“I think you just took yours early, Mr. Parson,” said Bitty. He grinned, but Kent didn’t grin back. Bitty tilted his head to one side. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Setting his mug aside, Kent shrugged. “Ugh.” He ruffled his hair with both hands. “I know it’s  _ fucking _ stupid, I just --”

“It’s not stupid,” Bitty said. Kent was nervous about the playoff games. He’d missed them last year, and it was no surprise that he was keyed up this year.

“They’re putting the rainbow spade back on our uniforms,” Kent said, after a moment. 

“Oh! Sweetpea, that’s so great,” Bitty said. The Aces wanted to continue to be outwardly supportive with Kent on the ice. It was wonderful. Wasn’t it? He frowned. “You don’t want them to?”

“I’m just --” Kent stopped, swallowed. He took a breath. “I can’t --”

Oh. Bitty reached toward the computer screen. “Honey,” he said. 

“I know it’s supposed to be nice,” Kent said. 

“Yeah,” said Bitty.

“It felt nice yesterday,” Kent said. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want them to,” Bitty said. “Can’t you ask Sara about it?”

Kent’s jaw tightened a little. “No,” he said. “No. I’m not doing that. It’s -- they’re being nice, you know?”

“Well, yeah, but --”

“It’s okay,” Kent said. “It’s fine. I’m just…” he took a breath. “I feel like if we lose and all the guys have that on their jerseys everyone will know it was my fault.”

Fuck. Bitty hated this long distance thing. This was a conversation that called for actual hugs and they were so, so far apart. “No they won’t,” he said. “Y’all win or lose as a team. Right?”

Kent shrugged. 

He was so black and white about things sometimes. Bitty took a breath. “Sweetpea,” he said, “you can’t win or lose a hockey game all by yourself. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Kent rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Forget it, it’s not -- it’s fucking stupid.”

It wasn’t stupid, not really. Bitty knew where some of that came from. Jack was just as hard on Kent as he was on himself back in the Q. “Just do your best,” he said. “That’s what you always tell me, isn’t it?”

Kent smiled a little. “It is,” he said, “yeah.” 

The goodbye kegsters were  _ wild _ . Bitty wasn’t sure if they’d ever manage to have kegsters at quite the same level once Ransom, Holster, and Lardo were gone -- they were definitely losing their reigning beer pong champion. Everyone had a great time, though, and the gigantic parties helped ease the pain of watching his best friends kiss the ice.

When graduation day came, Bitty cheered as loud as he could when Holster, Lardo, and Ransom all got their turns to walk across the stage. He was so  _ proud _ of them, even if his face did hurt from holding back tears. Trying not to think about what he’d do without them was easy when it was all events and congratulations and photos, but he knew he’d have to face it sooner or later.

Jack had gotten everyone tickets to a playoff game. They were clearing some things from the Haus, trying to get stuff moved to Boston before the game that evening. Bitty headed up the stairs to check on their progress.

“Bitty!” Holster was lifting a box as Bitty got to the top of the stairs. “Your beau’s the SMH sugar daddy.”

He meant Jack, not Kent. “Lord!” Bitty laughed. “C’mon. Y’all know I’m not -- we’re not --” he flushed. “Well, anyway, you should write Jack a thank you letter. I’ve got stationery.”

Holster laughed.

“Okay, so we’ve got to go to Boston to unload stuff at Shitty’s place,” Ransom said, turning away from his laptop and schedule spreadsheet for a moment. “If we’re trying to be in Providence by  _ five _ then we’ve gotta be in Holster’s car by  _ eleven _ .” He paused. “Oh, yeah. Bitty --” He fished in his pocket. “Keys. For Ollie, Wicky, and the frogs. I think Chowder has the basement key?”

“But y’all --” Bitty hesitated. “You’ve got boxes still here.”

“Yeeeeaaahh,” Holster said, “we’ll come back for ’em later. Especially if Jack makes it to the next round, shit.”

If Providence made it to the next round, Jack would be even closer to playing Kent in the Stanley Cup Final. Bitty swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat.

Ransom handed him the keys. “The Haus is all yours, Bits.”

They dropped into his hand and Bitty couldn’t hold it back any more. The tears spilled over. “Well, shoot, y’all.”

“Aw, come on, Bits!” Ransom held up a hand.

“Bitty, no!” Lardo sounded dismayed. 

“I’m just gonna miss y’all so much,” Bitty said, scrubbing at tears. Lord, everyone he’d grown close to was going to be gone! “And the Haus,” he continued. “The  _ team _ … it’s gonna be so different!”

“You’re gonna be a kickass captain, bro.” Holster swept them all into a tight hug.

Ransom gave Bitty’s shoulder a squeeze. “And like, Shitty was down here every other weekend. We’ll be around.”

“Bro. Group chat is forever,” Lardo said. 

Bitty sniffled. “Thanks, y’all,” he said.

As they piled into the car to head to Boston, Bitty dried his tears with a hand, scrubbing at his face. The Haus keys felt so heavy in his pocket.

It was real. He was the Captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team, and Ransom, Holster, and Lardo were all moving on.

That night, during their Skype call, Bitty found himself crying for the second time that day. “It’s just -- they were my first friends here,” he said. “I know everybody moves on and graduation’s a big deal and I’m so happy for them, but it just isn’t gonna be the same. I’m not even sure I know what kind of pies to make if Holster and Ransom aren’t eating them!”

“It’s okay to be sad and happy at the same time,” Kent said. “I think that’s pretty normal.”

“Lord, listen to me rambling on,” Bitty said, sniffling a little. He dragged his sleeve across his face. “C’mon. Tell me about your day. Big game tomorrow, right?”

Kent laughed. “Yeah, um. Big game tomorrow. They’ve repainted the logo again and everything. I’m kind of trying not to think about it?”

“Right,” Bitty said. “Well. What else are you thinking about, then?”

Kent’s grin was heated. “Lots of stuff,” he said. “That suit you wore to graduation, for one.”

Bitty flushed. He’d sent Kent a few snaps before going to the event, because he  _ knew _ his butt looked great in that suit. “Yeah? I like that suit.”

“It’s perfect.” Kent paused, and then groaned. “God, I can’t wait to see you.” He ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it the way he did when he was nervous. “And, um. I was thinking --”

“Sounds dangerous,” Bitty said, keeping his tone light. He grinned.

Kent laughed. “Yeah. Well. You know, um. You know how I visit Calgary every summer?”

“Yeah,” said Bitty. “To see the Troys?”

Nodding, Kent rubbed the back of his neck. “I, um. Was wondering if you might like to come with me? After a little time here, I mean. And I’d, y’know. I’d rent a place, I mean we wouldn’t have to stay with the Troys.”

“Oh,” Bitty said. Kent went to Calgary every summer, and if Bitty were honest, going to Canada over the summer with him and meeting Jeff’s family felt like meeting  _ Kent’s _ family. It was important. “I’d love to.” It would take some doing, figuring out how to explain it to his parents in a satisfactory manner, but --

But spending the summer with Kent sounded amazing. Bitty couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much, piesnpucks, rhysiana, & yoursummerfrost for beta reading. i truly appreciate your time!


	36. under pressure

Bitty should’ve known Kent would put a video up even though he was in the middle of playoffs. It was James Bay’s  _ Let It Go _ , filmed in a hotel room in pale morning light. It was a very sweet, soft cover, the early light illuminating the perfect white of the rumpled hotel sheets and sparkling off the edge of Kent’s playoff beard, barely visible in the frame. Looking at the worn fabric of Kent’s plain white t-shirt and the soft creases in his favorite jeans, Bitty could almost smell his cologne. The quiet sounds of traffic filtering through an open window provided an unexpected, but not unwelcome, background to the song.

He missed him. 

Kent and Jeff had started watching  _ The Man in the High Castle _ , but this time they waited for Bitty before watching new episodes. Sitting on Jack’s sofa in the evening and watching dystopian television with his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s… best friend? … was weird at first. It was hard not to notice the way Jeff tracked Jack in the background behind Bitty. He couldn’t help but think back to the things Jeff had said to him after the incident in Vegas.

_ Who was the other person? _

_ It was Jack. _

_ Fuck you. _

The first time Jeff realized that Bitty was Skyping from Jack’s apartment, his text messages were brusque and scarce for a week. He didn’t say anything about Jack, not that Bitty expected him to, but it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Jeff’s texts defrosted after a bit more time, but Bitty was sure he hadn’t forgotten.

At first, Jack tried to give him space. He avoided mentioning Kent most of the time and found things to be busy with when Bitty was on a call. But once Bitty started watched TV via Skype in the living room, it only took two episodes for Jack to be too invested to stay away. They ended up piled on the sofa with the laptop hooked to the television, Bitty and Jack on one end of the camera and Kent and Jeff and all of the animals on the other. 

Jack was a good placeholder for Bitty when he had something in the oven. When Kent inevitably asked questions about what was going to happen even though not a single one of them knew, Bitty yelled his theories from the kitchen and Jack relayed them in case something didn’t go through. After a few episodes, Jack had his own theories and so did Jeff -- and they didn’t line up at  _ all _ . 

Bitty found plenty of other stuff to do, of course. Spending time with Jack gave him a beautiful kitchen to work in, and he found that experimenting with new recipes was even  _ more _ fun when he had such a lovely workspace. Jack indulged him with whatever he wanted from the grocery store, including the Irish butter that Kent usually sent. After meeting some of the Falconers he’d heard so much about, Bitty found that he had more than enough baking and jam making to keep him occupied -- and it was nice to have things to do to help him clear his mind. Trying to stay inside nutritional guidelines was still quite a challenge. 

Dealing with two professional hockey players in playoffs was a little more exhausting than Bitty had anticipated. Pushing Kent for emotional honesty and making an effort to ask specific questions about how he was feeling took some forethought. And he had forgotten, somehow, that Jack wasn’t always as solid as he seemed.

He was in the kitchen, kneading dough for sandwich bread and listening to  _ Lemonade _ when he heard the door to Jack’s bedroom creak open. Shuffling footsteps followed, and Bitty smiled. Nap time was over, then.

“Bits?” Jack stepped into the kitchen.

“Oh, there he is. Monsieur Grumpy fresh from naptown! And you know I’m in the kitchen!” Bitty rolled the dough under his hands. “Sweetheart, your phone was buzzing for a full minute and I know it wasn’t the groupchat since --”

Jack’s voice was small, quiet. “Bitty.”

“Jack?” Setting the rolling pin aside, Bitty turned around. Jack trembled a little, eyes dark. “Jack, honey -- hey.” Stepping forward, Bitty touched Jack’s arm. “Jack?”

“I guess I’ve been thinking about game five…” Jack licked his lower lip. “I was thinking about the game and, uh --” Jack sighed. “Will you sit with me?”

They sat on Jack’s sofa, thighs touching. After a moment, Bitty wound his arms around Jack’s torso, holding him like they were back on the loading dock at Samwell. He closed his eyes.

“I guess it hit me,” Jack said, finally. “This is it. It’s the Cup.” He sighed again.

“Should I get off you?” Bitty asked. “You can breathe between --”

“ **No,** ” Jack said. “I -- It’s not... I should be fine if… just wait a sec.” He paused, allowing himself time to take a few deep breaths. “I’m usually alone,” Jack said.

Usually. It hadn’t always been that way, though, Bitty was sure of it. “Since the Q?” he asked.

A moment of silence passed between them. “Yes,” said Jack.

Bitty curled his fingers at the back of Jack’s neck.

“This helps,” Jack said.

They sat quietly for a while, cuddled up together. Bitty rubbed his fingers slowly across the back of Jack’s neck.

“Sorr --”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Bitty said. There was no reason to apologize, and he didn’t want to let Jack feel like he had to.

Jack swallowed. They sat quietly for a while, Jack breathing and Bitty holding him. “Yeah… I haven’t felt like that in a while. I guess I started thinking… if we win game 5, it’s the Cup. But if we lose, and then lose another, and another, and then -- it’d be just like the draft again. I’d be this huge fuckup.”

Lord. These boys. “You are no such thing.” Bitty made sure his tone was firm. “And Jack, honey, one game at a time.”

“Right,” Jack said. “You’re right. I’m feeling better, Bits.” He was still for a moment, just holding onto Bitty. “… Thanks.”  

“Yeah?” Bitty asked.

“Still nervous, but better.” After a moment, Jack nodded again. “One game at a time,” he said, “one period at a time. Shift by shift.”

“You should already be proud, Jack,” Bitty said. “This is a huge step for y’all.” Pulling away, he stood, brushing his hands down over his thighs. He had sandwiches to finish. But still --

Bitty turned to face Jack, placing gentle hands on his hips. “You got all the support in the world behind you and that’s never going away. Ever. From your family, your friends, your team.” Bitty pressed his face against Jack’s chest, hugging him tightly. “From me.”

“Even though I could be playing Kent for the Cup?” Jack asked, even as he wound his arms around Bitty.

“Of course, honey. I’ll cheer for both of you,” Bitty said. “I’m good like that.” 

“Thanks, Bits.”

Bitty pulled at Jack’s hand. “And, sleeping beauty, you woke up just in time! I was starting to get lonely out here.”

“What’re you making?”

“Almond butter and bread for thirty peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Bitty said. 

“It’s not a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if --”

Bitty cut Jack off, not wanting to debate the nut butter situation. “I know you must be drained, so --”

“Let me help,” Jack said. “It’d take my mind off stuff.”

“Well!” Bitty turned to get back to work. “Then come help me dice nuts, ya big lug.”

Jack laughed. “Thanks, Bits,” he said.

It was peaceful in the kitchen with Jack, both of them focused on their tasks. Bitty turned music on, docking his phone in the speaker so they could listen to it together. Chattering about the nut butter making process helped fill the space between them, and Jack’s shoulders gradually relaxed the longer they worked.

After dinner and two episodes of  _ How to Get Away With Murder _ , Bitty glanced at the clock. 

“Oh, honey,” he said. “It’s late. We ought to get to bed.” Leaving the sofa, he brushed his fingers along the nape of Jack’s neck before heading to the bathroom.

“Um,” Jack said.

“Hmm?” Bitty leaned out of the bathroom door, toothbrush in hand.

“I wanted to, uh.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to tell you that you don’t have to sleep in the guest room, I guess,” he said. “Unless you want to. But if you don’t want to, and you -- you can sleep with me?”

“Oh,” Bitty said. “Okay, yeah. I, um. I’ll sleep with you. Just let me call Kent and then I’ll meet you in there, okay?”

The corner of Jack’s mouth lifted in a little smile. “Okay,” he said.

Taking his laptop, Bitty settled onto the bed in the guest room. Pulling up Skype, he checked the time before initiating a video call with Kent. “Hi, baby,” he said, as soon as the call connected.

“Hey, you.” Kent had Purrs on his shoulder. “How’s Rhode Island?”

“A delight,” Bitty said, “although I am missing a certain very handsome blond.”

“Oh? Can’t imagine who,” Kent said. “He must be amazing. You’ll have to introduce me some time.”

Bitty laughed. “How’s Vegas?”

“A delight,” Kent said. “Desertous. You know.” Purrs bumped his head up against Kent’s ear. “Covered in kittens.”

“Sounds great,” Bitty said. “You doin’ okay?”

“Mmm.” Kent shrugged one shoulder. “How’s Jack?”

“Jack had a rough day,” Bitty said.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Kent rubbed Purrs’ tiny head. “Everything’s okay?”

“It’s fine,” Bitty said. “Just, you know. Nerves.”

“I get it,” Kent said. He rubbed at his playoff beard with one hand. 

“Are  _ you _ doing okay, honey?” Bitty asked, again. The Aces were all wearing the rainbow ace of spades again.

Kent caught Purrs just as he started to fall off his shoulder. “If we win tomorrow, we’re in the finals,” he said.

“I know,” said Bitty. “I’m really proud of you, baby. Y’all’re doing really good.”

Settling Purrs into his lap, Kent sighed. His hair was mussed and he kept fidgeting, not quite ever sitting still. He was wearing that Minnesota North Stars hoodie, the one that belonged to his dad.

Bitty frowned. “Is Jeff there?” he asked.

“Yeah, he’s in his room.” Kent rubbed the top of Purrs’ head with one finger. “Why?”

“Maybe you should see if he minds sitting with you for a while,” Bitty suggested. “Since I can’t hold you right now?”

Purrs bit at Kent’s finger. “I don’t wanna bother him,” Kent said. He paused. “I wish you were here.”

“You’re not gonna bother him.” Bitty was certain of that. Jeff was great with Kent, he probably wouldn’t even care if Kent wanted to sleep in the same bed with him because he was nervous.

Bitty cleared his throat. “Did your care package arrive?”

Kent grinned. “Yeah, it got here yesterday.”

“Baby!” Bitty leaned back against the headboard. “You didn’t say anything!” He’d been expecting Kent to text when he got it, like usual.

“That’s because I ate all the peanut butter cookies already,” Kent confessed. 

“ _ All _ of them?” Bitty had sent extra just for Jeff! "Did you save anything to share? I made extra jam just for those thumbprints." He'd also sent brownies and homemade trail mix without raisins -- Kent hated them.

“Well -- they’re really good!” Kent flushed.

“You ate Jeff’s, too?”

“Well, he wasn’t gonna --” Kent stopped and swallowed, eyes widening a little. He didn’t continue.

Bitty narrowed his eyes. “He wasn’t gonna what? Eat them?” Did Jeff really not eat anything Bitty sent? Why hadn’t Kent mentioned it before?

“It’s not that he doesn’t _ like _ what you make,” Kent said, tone placating. “It’s just he can’t, y’know. He can’t eat that stuff.”

“What?”

“Well --” Kent rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away from the screen. “Jeff’s, um. Jeff has type I diabetes, so --”

“He  _ what _ ?” Oh, no! But he’d been sending extra stuff for Jeff for ages! “But --  _ honey _ , how could you let me send him so many things without telling me?” Lord, Jeff probably thought Bitty was such a dick! “Oh my  _ God _ , Kent.”

“Well, it’s -- it’s rude, right, to talk about people’s health problems? And --  _ oh _ , buddy --” Kent made a grab for Purrs, who was about to fall off the edge of the bed.

“I think the situation would’ve called for it!” He couldn’t believe neither of them had said anything. Jeff could’ve at least texted! “Lord, I’ll -- all right, I’ll figure something out, I just can’t believe y’all let me send him so many things and he never even ate a single one of them.”

“He tried the peanut butter cookies last time,” Kent said.

“And?”

“And I think he said they were... epic.” He paused. “Yeah, epic.” Kent stuck his hand under the covers, moving it around so that Purrs could chase it. “It’s fine, seriously. He’s not offended or anything.”

Bitty sighed. “Did you try the thumbprints?” he asked.

“I’m saving them,” Kent said.

“What for?” 

Kent shrugged. “I just want to save them.”

They weren’t for saving. They were for  _ eating _ . Bitty was fairly certain Kent would love them. “Well, you have to try them,” he said. “You know I made The Jam for those, don’t you?”

“But they have your thumbprints on them,” Kent said, rubbing the back of his neck.

This boy.

“Honey,” Bitty said. “That’s so sweet and gay, but I really want you to eat them.”

Kent laughed a little. “Yeah, yeah,” he said.

“The jam situation is very serious,” Bitty continued. “You can’t just not eat the jam after everything I’ve been through!” He rambled about the jam recipe for a while, going over which berries he’d used and all the myriad reasons Kent really needed to eat the damn thumbprint cookies. After a little while he lapsed into silence, just watching Kent play with Purrs on the screen.

“Eric?”

“Yes, baby?”

Kent wasn’t looking at the camera. “What’ll you do if Jack plays me for the final?” he asked. “I mean if we play the Falconers.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ll have to come to Providence,” Kent said.

“I know,” said Bitty. “And then I’ll get to see you. Right?”

Kent rubbed at his beard. “Is it -- is it going to be weird?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “Are you feeling weird about it?”

Kent didn’t say anything for a minute. Purrs wobbled on his shoulder, trying to climb down. “I don’t want to feel weird about it,” he said, finally. “I just -- I want to be able to see you, I guess.”

Bitty frowned. “Why wouldn’t you see me?” he asked. What on Earth was he talking about?

“Well, ’cause you’d be staying with Jack,” said Kent.

Oh. “Well -- not if you were here,” Bitty said. “Unless you don’t think I can stay with you?”

“You can stay with me,” Kent said. “We’d have to be careful about it, but you can -- of course you can stay with me.”

“Then I’ll stay with you,” Bitty said. “I can stay with Jack any time.”

Kent’s small smile eased the tightness in Bitty’s stomach. “I guess so,” he said. “How’s it going, by the way, staying with Jack? Are you still sleeping on the sofa?”

“Um -- not tonight,” Bitty said, “if I don’t want to be.”

Nodding, Kent chewed his lower lip for a moment. “D’you want to be?” he asked.

Bitty tilted his head. “Not really,” he said.

Kent’s gaze flicked back up to the camera. “Then don’t.”

Running his tongue over his lower lip, Bitty was quiet for a minute. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure.” Kent smiled, eyes warm behind his glasses. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Bitty said.

“I love you,” Kent said.

Bitty smiled. “I love you, too, baby.” He paused. “Are you gonna go see Jeff?”

Kent sighed. “I -- I guess. If you want me to.”

“I think it might be a good idea,” said Bitty.

“Okay.”

They said goodnight, Kent shutting his light off first and Bitty scooting out from under the covers in Jack’s guest bedroom. Once he’d shut down his laptop he went back down the hall, pausing outside the door for just a second before pushing it open.

Climbing back into Jack’s bed, Bitty snuggled in next to him. After a moment Jack’s arm slid around him, pulling him closer. 

“Is this okay?”

Bitty swallowed, curling his hand over Jack’s bicep. “Yes,” he said. “It’s -- it’s great.” Jack was solid and warm. Comforting.

“You talked to him?”

“Yes,” Bitty said. 

“And?”

“He told me not to sleep on the sofa.”

“Yeah?” Jack pushed up on one elbow. “He said ‘Bittle, don’t sleep on the sofa’?”

Bitty laughed. “He doesn’t call me Bittle,” he said. “You know that.”

“He calls you  _ Eric _ ,” Jack said, shifting to lean over Bitty. “Right?”

It sounded so  _ weird _ from Jack’s mouth. “He does,” Bitty said. He brought a hand up to Jack’s chest. “But you don’t.”

“No.” Jack leaned closer. “I don’t.”

Bitty slid his hand down. “Is this okay?” he murmured.

“Yes.” Jack bent to kiss him, and when their lips met in the dark, Bitty shivered just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, as always, rhysiana & piesnpucks. y'all are wonderful.


	37. i pray you catch me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> homophobia/homophobic language in this chapter, lads.

Stepping off the plane in Vegas, Bitty found Jeff waiting for him. “Oh,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a disappointment, but it was definitely not what he’d expected. “Hi!” His phone let out a _ping_ as messages flooded in.

“There’s probably a text in there somewhere telling you Kent got stuck in an interview,” Jeff said, rubbing his scruffy jaw with one hand. His hair was getting long. “I said I’d get you and bring you to the house.”

Bitty laughed. “I’m sure there is,” he said. “Thanks.”

Jeff’s old Jeep was a hideous shade of green because of course it was. It suited him -- he never seemed to be up on latest trends, and Bitty had gotten the impression that he hadn’t ever thought to care about that sort of thing very much. Bitty tossed his bag in the back and climbed into the passenger seat.

Tugging his door shut, Jeff put the keys in the ignition. “Buckle up,” he said.

Bitty clicked his seatbelt together. “Thanks again for coming to get me,” he said.

“You’re welcome, man.” Jeff put his hand on the side of Bitty’s seat as he turned to look behind him, backing out of the spot.

They were quiet as they left the airport, slotting into traffic with nothing but the radio to break the silence between them. Finally, Bitty couldn’t take it anymore. “Is this _Rush_?” he asked.

“You know it is,” Jeff said, eyes on the road.

Lord. The Canadian rock band of what, 1975? Bitty groaned. “Can I --”

“Nope,” said Jeff, like they’d had the same conversation a thousand times. “Absolutely not.” He paused. “What do you two have against good music?”

What, Bitty and Kent? Had to be. “Okay, okay, Dad Rock,” Bitty said. “We’ll listen to your golden oldies. Jeez.”

“That’s _Mister_ Dad Rock to you,” Jeff said. He paused. “And the _golden_ oldies are from the fifties, I hope you know that.”

Bitty laughed.

Jeff didn’t say anything else, and Bitty fidgeted in his seat, thinking. He didn’t want to spend the drive to Kent’s house in silence. This was his first time seeing Jeff in person since all that ugliness months ago, and he didn’t want to go backwards. “So,” he said, after a moment. “How’s Teddy?” If Bitty had learned anything over the last several months of trying to get back into Jeff’s good graces, it was that he _adored_ his brother’s children.

Jeff’s answering smile was brilliant. “He’s getting so big!” he said, laughing before launching into a story. Warm stories about the kids -- including Oliver’s recent science experiments, Teddy eating a bug, and Julianna’s foray into ballet lessons -- and Kent filled the rest of the drive, and by the time they pulled into Kent’s driveway, Bitty’s shoulders felt a lot lighter.

Kevin met them at the door to Kent’s house, tail wagging as she sat directly in front of Bitty’s feet. “Oh! Kevin!” He scratched behind her ears, laughing at the furious _thwap_ of her tail against the floor.

Jeff shut the door. “We gotta go, sister,” he said, and Kevin looked up at him with large eyes. “I know,” he said.

“Aw, sweet baby,” said Bitty. “Can’t she stay a minute?”

Jeff laughed. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see if he’s home yet.” Ducking into the kitchen, he headed for the back door.

“C’mon,” Bitty said, looking down at Kevin. “Let’s go put the bags down.”

Climbing the stairs, he paused with three to go. Kent was definitely home -- he was singing Whitney Houston songs in the shower. Bitty grinned. He set his bag in the bedroom before hurrying back downstairs, Kevin trailing after him.

“His car’s here,” Jeff was saying, just closing the door to the garage.

“He’s singing Whitney in the shower,” Bitty said. He opened a cabinet door and reached for a glass.

Jeff groaned. “God, he’s been doing Whitney all week.” He grimaced and pulled the fridge open, grabbing for a carton of apple juice.

“You okay?” Bitty leaned in the kitchen doorway. “I thought orange was better for low blood sugar.” It was just a guess, but --

“I’m allergic to oranges.” After checking his phone, Jeff chugged a glass of the juice. After setting it down, he glanced at Bitty. “He finally told you, huh? Did it slip out?”

“You could’ve told me,” Bitty said. “I wouldn’t’ve sent you so much stuff you couldn’t eat if I’d known. Lord.”

“The peanut butter cookies were really good,” Jeff said.

Right, the peanut butter cookies -- the one thing he’d sent that Jeff actually ate. “Yeah, but I can make them better for _you_ ,” Bitty said. “You need a basis for comparison.”

Jeff laughed. “Right,” he said, “because making stuff for _me_ is a priority for yo--”

“I like making stuff for you!” Bitty insisted.

“You love a challenge, huh?” Jeff teased, giving Bitty the impish grin he usually reserved for Kent.

Bitty flushed. “I --”

“Hey, Swoops!” Kent yelled down the stairs. “Did you not go to the airport? Fuck!” He slid into the kitchen in his socks, still rubbing at his hair with a towel. “I -- _oh_. Eric!”

“Hi, baby,” Bitty said, and he couldn’t get another word out before Kent was on him, winding arms about his waist and pressing their lips together.

When they finally broke apart, Kent had to take a deep breath. “I missed you,” he said, hands sliding down Bitty’s sides. “I got stuck -- the stupid interview wasn’t meant to take that long, and Sara _promised_ , but then --”

“It’s fine,” Bitty said. “Really, honey, it’s --” Kent kissed him again. “It’s totally fine. Don’t y’all have a game tomorrow, anyway?”

“Yeah, we do.” Jeff set his glass in the sink and cleared his throat. “I gotta go, speaking of.” He ruffled Kent’s damp hair. “You guys have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Kent, turning to watch Jeff go, “okay.”

“Don’t wear him out too much,” Jeff called, shutting the door behind him before Bitty could reply.

Kent laughed.

“Well --” Bitty grinned. “You heard the man, Mr. Parson,” he said. “No strenuous activity.”

“Oh, come now, Mr. Bittle.” Kent pressed a kiss to his neck, hands sliding down to curve around his thighs. “You could wear me out a _little_ , at least.” He nipped at Bitty’s ear.

Lord, his knees felt weak. “You haven’t even had dinner!” Bitty protested, as Kent lifted him up to the counter.

“Mmmm.” Kent tucked fingers up under the hem of Bitty’s shirt. “Don’t want dinner,” he murmured, breath hot against Bitty’s neck.

“Oh my god, honey --” Bitty shivered.

“I love you,” Kent said, voice like velvet. “I missed you so much.”

“Take me to our bed,” Bitty whispered, winding fingers into Kent’s hair.

Kent’s hands tightened on his thighs. “Eric --”

Bitty kissed him again, sliding his tongue along Kent’s lower lip. “Baby,” he said. “Please.”

Kent picked him up like he weighed nothing, and Bitty wrapped his legs around Kent’s waist. “Our bed,” Kent said.

“Yeah.” Bitty wound an arm around Kent’s neck. “ _Our_ bed.”

They came together like puzzle pieces, a perfect match. Straddling Kent’s lap, Bitty traced his hands over Kent’s shoulders. “I missed you,” he murmured.

Kent stared up at him for a moment. “Even in Providence?” he asked.

“Especially in Providence.” Bitty bent to kiss him, bringing his hand back up to cup Kent’s jaw.

They took their time with each other, movements lingering and slow. It was only after they were both breathless and spent, sprawled in their bed in a tangle of arms and legs, that either of them thought of anything else. Kent, with his head resting against Bitty’s side, let out a long sigh.

“Yes, baby?” Bitty brushed his fingers along Kent’s golden beard.

“Mmm. I’m hungry.” Kent raked a hand through his hair. “How’s Thai sound?”

Bitty laughed. “Perfect,” he said. “Do I have to put clothes on?”

“God, no. Please don’t.” Kent tapped his phone screen. “What d’you want?”

“Drunken noodles,” Bitty said. “Medium hot.” He stretched his arms up over his head.

Their food arrived about half an hour later. Kent pulled on soft grey joggers and a t-shirt before heading down to answer the door. Bitty shrugged into one of Kent’s shirts before leaving the bedroom.

Settling onto the sofa with his bowl of noodles, Bitty watched Kent carry his plate and glass in from the kitchen. Fuck, he was gorgeous, even with that playoff beard. It was so _good_ to see him. Bitty stretched out one arm, brushed fingers over the back of Kent’s neck, just watching him fiddle with his food.

“What?” Kent asked, glancing over.

“Nothing,” Bitty said. “I just -- I missed you.”

A shy smile spread across Kent’s face. “Yeah?” he said. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. Bitty leaned over and pressed a kiss to Kent’s cheek. “Me, too, sweetpea,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s eat before it gets cold, okay?”

“Mm.” Kent took a bite and chewed slowly.

He was a bit too skinny again, Bitty realized. Twirling noodles around his fork, he shifted on the sofa. “You gettin’ nervous?”

Kent shrugged one shoulder. “I guess,” he said. “If we win this one, we’re in.” He took a long drink of his water. “I guess we should, uh. We should watch the Falcs’ game, huh?”

Both teams had one game left in their series. Bitty bit his lower lip. He’d hated leaving Jack at such a crucial moment, but -- but he’d had his ticket to Vegas for months. “We should, yeah,” he said. “Wanna know who y’all’re playing and all, right?”

Kent sighed. “I guess,” he said. “It’s better than tape. For now.”

The first period was, in all honesty, dull. The Falconers played a methodical game but managed to score a few minutes in -- Tater shot the puck from the corner and it bounced off Coburn and past Bishop into the net. Tampa Bay had difficulty getting behind the Falconers’ offense and the period ended without any sustained offensive pressure. When Bitty glanced over at Kent, he was frowning.

“What?” Bitty asked.

“Nothing,” Kent said, sounding a bit distant. “This just... this isn’t Tampa’s game.”

Bitty glanced back at the television. It was odd, looking at the Falconers as an opponent instead of his team. “No?”

“No. They need to pressure St. Martin.” Kent leaned his head on one hand, still looking at the television.

When the second period started, it was apparent that the Lightning coaching staff agreed with Kent’s assessment; Marty wasn’t achieving nearly the same effect. Providence wasn’t putting much pressure on Tampa Bay, and once Tampa’s Point-Palat-Johnson line hit the ice, the momentum switched over entirely. A wrist shot from Kucherov right out of a faceoff rolled between Snowy’s legs to put Tampa Bay on the board. Following the goal, Tampa’s forecheck and speed started creating holes in the Falconers’ defense, sending them scrambling -- but it was too late.  
  
Alex Killorn intercepted a pass near the Falconers’ blueline and then pushed play into the offensive zone. With Cory Conacher and Yanni Gourde streaking towards the net, Killorn shot high and off the glass, sending the puck bouncing directly to Conacher. He swatted at the puck and sent it trickling behind Mashkov, where Gourde tapped it right by Snowy to give Tampa the lead at the end of the second.

Bitty chewed his lower lip as the third started -- the Falconers were being forced into a variety of bad positions by Tampa’s aggressive play. With the game more than half finished, Providence was getting tired, and it showed in their skating. Continued pressure on Jack left him scoreless as well, despite multiple attempts. Bitty felt Kent glance at him, saying nothing. Did he hope the Falconers lost? Did he want to face Jack in the Finals?

Tampa dominated Providence in the third, keeping the puck in the Falconers’ offensive zone for more than half the period. They continued to play a fast and aggressive game, scoring two more goals before the period ended. Their win would send them to the Finals, which meant Jack’s season was over.

Bitty glanced at Kent after the game rolled over into interviews. The Aces had their own battle for the playoff spot tomorrow night. Would it be insensitive to --

“Go call him,” Kent said, leaning forward to pick up the remote. He switched the television off.

“Well, I --” Bitty swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “Should I --”

“Take your time,” said Kent. He ruffled Bitty’s hair. “You can use Jeff’s room, if you want. I’m gonna do the dishes, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said.

Slipping into Jeff’s room, he took a deep breath. The room was cool and dark. Bitty switched the bedside lamp on, sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress. A copy of _Something Like Summer_ by Jay Bell sat on the nightstand, one of the pages dogeared. Bitty dialed Jack’s number, scooting back onto the bed as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Jack sounded like he had a cold, voice all rough and stuffy.

“Hey, honey,” Bitty said, keeping his tone soft.

“Hey,” said Jack. He paused. “I, uh. I guess you saw --”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Yeah. I saw.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Y’all did great, honey. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” said Jack.

“And there’s always next year,” Bitty added.

“I know,” Jack said. “I just… I’m not --” he let out a frustrated sound. He’d wanted it so badly.

“Lord, I wish I could hug you right now.” Bitty let out a soft sigh.

“Me, too.”

“Next year,” Bitty said, again. “You had a great season, honey. You should be proud.”

“I know.” Jack sighed.

They only talked for a few minutes before Jack begged off, saying he wanted to go to bed early. Bitty sat in Jeff’s room for a few minutes after, leaning his head back against the headboard. Lord. What would he _do_ if the Aces lost, too? That’d be a heavy load of disappointment to bear.

Leaving Jeff’s room, Bitty tugged the door closed behind him. The lights in the living room were already off, which meant Kent had gone up to get ready for bed. It was no surprise -- he had a big game the next day. Bitty poured a glass of water before heading upstairs.

Kent tucked in close once Bitty slid into bed, settling his head on Bitty’s shoulder. Winding an arm around Kent’s shoulders, Bitty let out a soft sigh. Out of everything he’d missed while they were apart, he’d missed bedtime the most.

“You okay?” Kent’s voice was soft in the dark.

“I’m just so happy,” Bitty whispered, and he could feel the twitch of Kent’s smile against his chest.

“Me, too,” Kent said.

Kent wore his forest green suit to the arena, the expensive one he’d worn on their first Valentine’s Day. Bitty leaned in the bathroom doorway, watching Kent knot his golden tie. Cool grey eyes met his in the mirror. “Yes?” Kent asked, mouth quirking into a tiny smile.

“Nothing,” Bitty said. “You’re just gorgeous.”

“That’s --” Kent paused, tilting his head. “You hear the door?”

“I didn’t,” Bitty said, “but I’ll go check.” He traced a single finger down the side of Kent’s neck. “Wear this later, yeah?”

Kent laughed.

Bitty took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the bottom, he turned to the left, losing his footing for just a moment. Stretching a hand out for the wall, Bitty yelped when he collided with Jeffrey Troy instead. “Oh my _Lord_!”

Jeff slid an arm around Bitty like he’d done it a thousand times. He was wearing the most incredible royal blue suit Bitty had _ever_ seen. He looked -- he looked like a completely different person, almost. Had he trimmed his hair? Bitty stared at the perfect knot in his bronze tie.

Jeff frowned. “Hey -- you okay?”

Oh, fuck. Bitty planted one hand in the center of Jeff’s chest and pushed away from him. “Sock feet,” he said. “Slipped. You know how it is, no traction on those things, I should really be more careful if I’m going to live in this house without getting eighteen concussions, it’s --”

Jeff laughed, showing even, white teeth. “You’re fine,” he said. “He ready?”

“Just about,” Bitty said. He turned right around and headed back up the stairs, intent on finding his shoes.

Glancing back, he noticed Jeff watching him with one eyebrow raised. Bitty rubbed his face with one hand. He was… probably going to hear about that later, wasn’t he? Ugh.

They took Kent’s car. Bitty got in the back, not wanting to wrinkle Jeff’s suit -- even though watching him cram himself behind the driver’s seat would’ve been intensely amusing. When Kent got in, he glanced at Jeff. “Pulling out all the stops for game seven, huh?” he said.

“Shut up,” Jeff said. “You’re just pissed because I look better than you.”

“That,” said Kent, “is a _bald_ -faced lie.”

When they got to the arena, Jeff went ahead of them, leaving Bitty and Kent to walk in together. Bethany met them halfway, Teddy in her arms.

“Oh,” she said, “Bitty. Thank _god_. Please tell me you’re sitting with us.”

“Pie!” Teddy reached for Bitty with sticky hands.

“Not originally,” Kent said, glancing at Bitty. “I didn’t put you with Bethany, but --” He blinked as Bitty put a hand out to Teddy. “Oh, no, Teddy’s sticky, Eric, you don’t have to --”

“He had a ring pop,” Bethany said. “Juli gave it to him.”

Bitty already had Teddy on his hip. “Oh, I’d love to,” he said. “If it’s no trouble.”

Teddy babbled, showing Bitty his hands. Bethany rubbed her forehead. “Honestly,” she said, “it would be amazing.” Glancing at Kent, she smiled. “I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Kent worried his lower lip between his teeth for a minute. “I --”

Joining them in the hallway, De los Santos slapped Kent’s shoulder. “Hey, Cap!” He looked at Bitty. “And Bitty, right?”

“Right,” Bitty said.

“Nice to see you again,” De los Santos said. He looked at Kent again. “Is this --”

Kent flushed. “Yes,” he said, putting a hand on Bitty’s arm. “This is my boyfriend.”

Oh. Boyfriend. Bitty smiled a tentative smile. Kent trusted De los Santos, Bitty knew that they went out together sometimes -- which was saying a lot, when it came to Kent’s life. And he _had_ told Kent he could tell people he trusted, he just… wasn’t aware they were doing it that day.

“Thanks for your honesty, Cap,” De los Santos said, “but I knew that already.” He grinned at Bitty. “And welcome to Vegas, man. I’d love to stay and chat, but --” he glanced at his watch, and then at Kent. “C’mon, man. We don’t have time for this.”

He was right. Kent was already just a little off his normal routine, and it would mess with him if he didn’t get going. “I’ll see you later,” Bitty said. “Kick their --” he glanced at Teddy. “Uh, butts. Kick their butts.”

Kent laughed. “Right,” he said. “Butt-kicking. Got it.”

Bitty headed up to the box with Bethany. He hadn’t really met any of the other wives and girlfriends. Would going to the box make his status obvious? It was a little late to back out, and as Teddy babbled at him again and pressed a sweet little kiss to his cheek, Bitty decided he didn’t want to, anyway. They’d been together for _years_ now. He didn’t have to hide.

He didn’t want to keep hiding.

Sitting down, he settled Teddy into his lap. “Here we go, sugar,” he said.

“Oh, aren’t you adorable?” A smiling blonde woman paused just to Bitty’s right. “Are you related to the Troys?”

“I’m here with Kent,” Bitty said, letting Teddy play with his hands.

“ _Oh_ ,” she said. Her smile brightened. “Nice perks, huh?”

What was that supposed to mean? Bitty opened his mouth to reply, but the teams taking the ice ended the conversation for him.

It was a tight game. The first period started off at a breakneck pace, with both teams getting several good chances -- but a powerplay gave the Kings the man advantage they needed to score after several passes. The first ended with the Kings up by one.

After an LA turnover in the Aces’ defensive zone, Jeeves came down with Carly and snapped the puck right through Quick’s five-hole to tie the game. The rest of the second passed without a goal, leading both teams into a tense third period. Both teams brought their best to the ice, and the resulting gridlock pushed them closer and closer to overtime as the period ticked by without a single goal -- except for one cheap shot by LA that was overturned for interference. By the time the buzzer sounded, it was obvious that both teams’ defense was wearing down.

Bethany took Teddy once overtime started, because Bitty could _not_ sit down. The Aces were giving their all, pushing back against LA’s offense. Kent got off a beautiful short-handed goal in the last few seconds of overtime, and Bitty thought he’d lose his voice from screaming. This was it. They were going to the finals.

He waited for Kent just inside the stadium, across from the area fans usually waited in for autographs. It took Kent a bit to get to him, and when he did, they were joined by a couple other Aces. “Hey,” Bitty said, touching Kent’s arm.

“Team dinner?” one of them said.

“Yeah, man --” the other looked at Kent. “You done?” Something in his tone tasted like acid. His eyes flicked down to Bitty’s hand.

Bitty’s mouth went dry. He pulled his hand back. “Um -- what’re we doing to celebrate?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Kent cleared his throat. “There’s a private club some of the guys wanted to go to,” he said. “After dinner.”

“Oh, cool,” Bitty said.

It turned out that the Aces team dinner was usually Italian. They were boisterous, congratulating each other on shots and saves and discussing their upcoming series with Tampa Bay. Team dinner passed without too much trouble, as it seemed like several guys were going well out of their way to be polite to him.

“I remember you,” said Jeeves. “You came to family day, right?”

“Oh,” Bitty said, “yes.”

“He was helping with the kids,” Christopher said, and Bitty was glad he’d sat next to him. “Teddy is obsessed.”

“He’s a cute kid,” Bitty said.

“You guys been dating a while, then?” Jeeves asked, and Bitty looked up from his plate.

He hadn’t said so. He couldn’t remember Kent having said so, either. Glancing at Christopher, Bitty forced a bright smile onto his face. “Yeah, we’ve been together a couple years now,” he said.

Under the table, Kent squeezed his knee. Jeeves didn’t ask many more questions, and neither did anyone else. As guys began to filter out, headed to the club, Bitty checked his phone to find a text from Kent.

 _I’m sorry_.

In the car, he put a hand on Kent’s wrist. “Baby,” he said.

“Yes?” Kent was looking at the steering wheel.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Bitty said. “I’m not upset. I just didn’t know we were doing this today.”

“I don’t know how they know,” Kent said, turning to look at Bitty.

“People know what love looks like,” Bitty said, and then Kent leaned in to kiss him.

They made it to the club a little bit after everyone else. Joining several guys at the bar, Kent ordered Bitty a beer and a gin and tonic for himself. From the way he leaned in to the bartender, Bitty gathered that he was instructing him to go light on the gin. Glancing at the man to his right, Bitty smiled. “Hey,” he said. “Scooby, right?”

“That’s me.” He laughed. “And you’re... Bitty?” Scooby said.

“Yeah.”

“Suits you. How tall are you, anyway?” It seemed good-natured. Bitty rolled his eyes. When Kent handed him his beer, he took a long drink.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Carl leaned over.

“I heard you go to Samwell?” Scooby grinned at Kent. “What’d you do, go looking at college parties until you found somebody who would work, Parser?” He laughed again, and it seemed less good-natured this time.

“I --”

Bitty grit his teeth.

“Oh, fuck you, Scoob,” Jeff said, stepping between them. “Your last girlfriend was what, eighteen? Where is she, by the way?” He glanced at the bartender. “Glenmorangie Signet, neat. Thanks.” He smiled at Bitty “Hey, Eric.”

Scooby flushed. “That’s a low blow, Swoops.”

Jeff shrugged. “Just trying to meet you on your level, man.” He took his glass from the bartender and tipped it in Scooby’s direction. “Cheers. Maybe you’ll score next time, huh?”

God. So it was going to be that kind of night.

After tossing his first beer back in what felt like record time, Bitty ordered another. Kent was across the room, embroiled in a conversation with Jeeves about what they needed to watch for when it came to Tampa Bay. Bitty gazed at the dance floor, weighing his options.

“Hey,” someone said. Bitty turned. It was Ian Tremblay, a winger for the Aces. His nickname was Beans for reasons that Bitty had yet to figure out -- but he seemed nice enough. Nicer than Carl, anyway.

“Hi,” he said. “Good job tonight.”

“Thanks! That OT shot was pretty lucky, huh?” Ian glanced at Kent. “So you guys have been together a while, I guess?” He smiled. “That’s cool. You play hockey?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “I’m at Samwell.”

“Oh, yeah -- Zimmermann went there, huh? You guys play together?”

It seemed like a lot of conversations about Bitty turned into conversations about Jack. They talked a little about college and a lot about playing NCAA hockey with Jack. It wasn’t the most invigorating conversation, but it wasn’t terrible, either.

“You know, I don’t even mind that you’re gay,” Ian said, after a while. “You seem cool. You know, not that there’s anything wrong with it, obviously.”

“Wow,” Bitty said, “thank you.” Someone called for shots and Ian laughed.

“Shots! Why not, right? You wanna go?”

Bitty went.

He met too many people to keep up with. Several guys introduced themselves, but a lot of them didn’t stay to hold a long conversation with him. Bitty missed Shitty, suddenly, Shitty and Ransom and Holster and being at kegsters where he’d never once felt so awkward. He kept catching bits of conversation here and there, muttered sentences and crude jokes that cut off when he walked by.

“So, like -- do we even need to wear the rainbow thing any more?”

“I mean, I don’t see why we should, he seems happy enough --”

Someone laughed. “Right? Looks like the cap’s into twinks, huh?”

“ _You’re_ safe, then!”

Bitty took another shot.

Kent pressed a hand to the small of Bitty’s back, startling him. “Oh -- _lord_ ,” Bitty breathed. “Warn me next time, will you?”

“Sorry,” Kent said. “Are you doing okay?”

“I want to dance,” Bitty said. “Please?” Kent loved dancing. They’d never gone out before, but -- but fuck it, they were going to the Stanley Cup Finals!

“I don’t know,” Kent said, glancing behind him.

It was hot and he was tired of sitting and a new song was just starting. They should be having fun! This was supposed to be a celebration. Bitty pulled at Kent’s hand. “C’mon.”

The two of them stepped out onto the dance floor as _This is What You Came For_ blared from the speakers. It only took a few seconds for Kent to give in, pulling him close with strong hands on his hips. Bitty wound an arm about Kent’s neck, letting his hips drop. One hand hung back, loose in the movement, until Kent rolled his hips and Bitty brought that hand up to pull them close. Their bodies rolled together as Bitty dropped lower to the floor, Kent’s hands on his ass.

Fuck, Kent was a good dancer. When the song ended, they stayed on the dance floor. Some time and several shots later, Bitty remembered coming home -- but only just.

Kent decided they were leaving, cutting off Bitty’s question about an after party at Jeff’s place. Bitty cranked the radio in the car, singing along to _Formation_ when it came on. Once they were inside the house, Kent crushed Bitty to him, kissing him with a fierce desperation. “Sorry -- did you _want_ to go to Jeff’s place?” he asked, when they parted.

“Well, not _now_ ,” Bitty said, reaching for him again.

Their private celebration ended with both of them tucked up on the sofa, curled together under blankets while old reruns played on Nick at Nite. Kent toyed with a piece of Bitty’s hair. “I wasn’t planning on that,” he said. “I hope you -- I hope you know that. I didn’t think -- I should’ve known they’d guess, but --”

“It’s fine,” Bitty said. He let his head flop back against Kent’s shoulder. “I don’t even care, honey. Honestly. I just -- _fuck_ , is Carly always like that?”

“Yes.” Kent’s hand stilled in Bitty’s hair. “They’re always like that. All of them. That’s --” he took a breath. “That’s the team. You got the whole experience.”

Bitty closed his eyes. “My team’s better,” he said.

“Not at hockey,” said Kent, “but yeah.”

They slept in the next morning -- or, at least, Bitty slept in, waking to find Kent already gone. After a hot shower, a couple ibuprofen, some strong coffee, and at least three glasses of water, Bitty felt a bit more human. Human enough to start working on something to sweeten Kent’s experience last night.

He wanted a pie in the oven by the time Kent got back from practice. Chatting with his mother was a great way to spend baking time, so Bitty called her once he’d gotten started on the filling. As usual, they started with baking but eventually broke into hockey -- they were both just too excited over the prospect of Kent in the finals.

“And then did you **see** Kent’s last goal --”

See it? Bitty poured the filling into his pie shell, balancing his phone on his shoulder. “Hah, Mama, I was there!”

“Me and your daddy got back from your aunt’s and took a _nap_ so we could catch the game. Oh my Lord, your dad set an alarm and everything. He was checkin’ the time all through dinner.” Soft sounds of Suzanne bustling around in her kitchen filtered down the line. “Your daddy, my goodness. You and Kent created a hockey **fanatic**.”

Bitty grinned.

“... These games have got us all worked up. Glad Kent and them are getting a breather!”

That made two of them. “I **know** ,” Bitty said. “We had a little party, after? Figured we might as well celebrate a lil’ since you never know…” It actually ended up being a great night, all things considered — dancing made up for a lot. Bitty had officially met most of the Aces as Kent’s boyfriend, and nobody had had much to say about it... to his face, anyway. They’d probably all been warned ahead of time, but still. He’d felt mostly good about it. “... It was nice… first time getting everyone together.” He paused. “How’s your pie, Mama?”

“Just about ready to come out!” Bitty smiled as he heard the familiar creak of the oven door. “ **There** . Well, you tell Kent we’re all rooting for him. And before I _forget_ , Dicky, we gotta nail down your plane tickets for this summer! It’s late but there are some deals right in the middle of June, so you can still watch Kent play?”

“Oh,” Bitty said. He set down a strip of pie crust. “ **I** … thanks, Mama…”

“And Kent’s offer to get us seats was _so kind_ , but your daddy has that Alabama conference and then Judy’s lost her mind over planning this potluck --”

God, he’d put it off long enough. He had to just say it. He had to _say it_ . “Mama, I was thinking of staying here.” Bitty took a breath before continuing. “With Kent.” _Fuck_. “I. Or -- I’ve been invited to visit Canada.”

“With Kent? Oh!...” She paused. “Oh. You’d rather not come home this summer, or…?”

That wasn’t it at all. “No, I love coming home, but…” How could he put it? He wanted to stay with his boyfriend. Bitty frowned. “I gotta, I think I should tell you.”

“Sweetheart, tell me what? You know Kent’s gonna be busy this summer no matter which way these games go.”  

She wasn’t wrong. Still -- Bitty rubbed his neck with a shaking hand.

“Staying with a friend for that long, that’s a lot to put on him,” Suzanne continued. “But wait, you said you wanna go to _Canada_? Or stay at his place…?”

“I wanted to tell you,” Bitty said. “W-well. He said --  Kent said he wants me here." Spit it out. "Because Kent. He’s my friend." Damnit. No. "He’s my best friend.” Bitty swallowed.

Suzanne took a breath. “Well, Dicky, still, you know that’s not how we do things. You can’t overstay --”

She didn’t understand. “Mama, no. No.” Bitty dragged in a shivering breath. Lord, he felt sick. “Kent. Kent’s… he’s my -- I -- Mama, I’m --” Fuck. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t --

“... Dicky? You there?”

 _No_. “Mama, I have to go,” Bitty said, letting the words tumble out in a rush, “I’m at Kent’s and some of the boys are -- they’re having a party and it’s getting out of hand.” What a flimsy, pathetic excuse. He took another breath. “The whole plane thing we can figure out later. I’m sorry --” His throat was closing. He couldn’t breathe.

“Dicky, you --”

Bitty hung up. Shoving away from the kitchen counter, he went for the stairs.

Throwing himself into their bed, Bitty tried to calm his ragged breathing. Curled around Señor Bun, he pressed his wet face against his pillow. Everything hurt, felt impossibly small. His skin was too tight. Bitty took another shuddering breath.

Why couldn’t he just _say it_ ? He talked to his mama about _everything_ . Why couldn’t he tell her about the man he loved? _Why_?

The front door shut some time later, but Bitty barely registered the sound. He sniffed as quick footsteps ascended the staircase. The bedroom door creaked open.

“Hey, babe, are you --” Kent stopped talking and moved to the bed. He kicked his running shoes off, leaving them in a pile on the floor. The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat down, winding an arm around Bitty’s shoulders. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. A gentle hand stroked Bitty’s hair. “Shhh, hey, sweetpea.”

God, Kent called him sweetpea. Bitty turned, twining his arms around Kent’s neck, hot tears spilling over his face.

“It’s okay,” Kent said. “It’s okay, babe. What happened?”

“H-honey, I -- I wanna tell her more than **anything** .” Bitty pressed his face against Kent’s chest. “I just don’t have the **words**.”

Kent’s arms around him were solid, comforting. He threaded gentle fingers into Bitty’s hair. “I know, love,” he said. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you piesnpucks & rhysiana for your stellar input. 
> 
> Sorry this one took so long, y'all.


	38. forward

Kent, Bitty had learned, was more difficult to deal with when stressed than Jack. Kent pretended he was fine. He acted like everything was perfectly normal. Jack had come to Bitty when he was anxious, and helping him seemed easy -- but Kent liked to hide. He didn’t want to worry Bitty about anything, it seemed, even if Bitty told him that he wanted to be helpful. 

Kent seemed to think he had to be responsible for everything by himself. 

The night before the first game in the series, Bitty went to the bedroom after his shower only to find that Kent wasn’t there. He’d left him just switching off lights and preparing for bed. Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, Bitty waited for a little while. When Kent didn’t come, Bitty went downstairs to look for him.

He was sitting at the dining room table, phone in one hand, forehead leaning in the other. “Yeah. Okay. I’m just -- I don’t know. I don’t know.” He paused. “I know. I know he won’t.”

Bitty paused. Who wouldn’t? What?

“Okay. Thanks, Brian. I’m sorry to both--” Kent took a breath. “Thanks for taking time to talk with me.”

Ah. Brian. Kent nodded before hanging up, setting his phone down on the table. He rubbed his face with both hands, hunching his shoulders.

“Baby?” Bitty stepped closer. 

Kent startled, catching himself with one hand on the table. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Eric. Hi.”

Reaching one hand out, Bitty ran his fingers through Kent’s hair. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m --” Kent stopped himself. He swallowed. “Um, I’m -- no.”

It was a start. Bitty leaned over, pressed a kiss to Kent’s temple. “Talk to me?” 

“I don’t know what to say,” Kent admitted. “It’s just… a lot. Everything.”

“It is,” Bitty agreed. 

“I want to win,” Kent said, a moment later.

“I know, baby,” Bitty said.

“But what if I don’t? And --” Kent rubbed his face. “Fuck. I should just, I don’t know. We’ll win. I should just focus on that. Right?”

“I,” said Bitty, leaning over again to kiss Kent’s hair, “will still be here, either way.”

Kent looked up at him.

“Win or lose,” Bitty said, brushing a bit of Kent’s hair back off his forehead. “I promise.”

Kent turned his head then, catching Bitty’s hand and pressing a kiss into his palm. “I know you will,” he said. 

Bitty sat next to the glass for Game 1, wearing Kent’s “y’all means all” tank top under his Aces hoodie. The stadium was  _ packed _ . It was, honestly, a pleasure to watch. They played beautiful hockey, both teams -- a quick-paced, naturally flowing 5-on-5 kind of game that made Bitty miss being on the ice just looking at it. 

Tampa got a power play halfway through the first following a high-sticking call, which saw Hedman making an amazing, almost single-handed stop to Kent’s attempt for a shortie. The Aces got a powerplay of their own late in the first period, but they came up empty with the period tied at 0 when the buzzer sounded. Bitty let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the players left the ice. 

The Lightning got off to a quick start in the second -- just one minute in, Brayden Point got off a beautiful shot that pinged the top corner before going in right behind the Aces’ starting goalie, Ivan “Whiskey” Sariysky. A mere three minutes later, Kucherov centered the puck for Stamkos to beat Whiskey again and give the Lightning a two-goal lead. The Aces were desperate to get back in the game, stepping on the gas and applying pressure with play after play.

Regardless, they never recovered. Tampa kept their strong hold on the game with Vasilevskiy denying the Aces every chance they took. The game was a shutout, 3-0. Bitty met Kent at the car after press, not the dressing room. After just meeting the guys as Kent's boyfriend, Bitty wasn't keen to renew the acquaintance just yet.

“You wanna take a bath?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kent said, yanking his door open.

Bitty slid into the passenger’s seat. “Want me to come with you?”

Kent glanced over at him as he started the car. “Yeah,” he said, after a minute. “That’d be nice.”

In the tub, Kent leaned his head against Bitty’s, breathing slow and deep. “We’ll do better next time,” he said.

“Y’all did great today, baby,” Bitty said. He swirled his hand in the hot, glittery water. It smelled like lavender, which was probably for the best. Kent needed to relax.

“Um,” Kent said.

“Hmm?”

“I forgot to ask you if you minded coming to dinner tomorrow night,” Kent said. “At Christopher’s. Wednesday is always family dinner night, so --”

“I’d love to,” Bitty said. He loved the Troy children, not to mention Bethany. And -- family dinner! He’d been invited to family dinner? “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I was supposed to ask you yesterday,” Kent admitted. “I just… had a lot on my mind and I sort of forgot.”

Bitty laughed. “What should we bring?” he asked.

“Nothing with citrus in it,” Kent said, leaning his head back. “Otherwise, I don’t think it matters.”

Bitty settled on bringing pie. When they got to the house, Kent didn’t even bother knocking -- he just let them in the front door. “Hey!” he called, pausing to take off his shoes. “We’re here!”

“Watching tape!” someone yelled back, and Bitty realized a minute later that it was Jeff. Kent followed the sound just as Bethany poked her head out in the hallway.

“Oh, Eric!” she said. “Come on in!” She frowned a moment later. “Did you bring something? You didn’t have to do that.”

Bitty headed down the hallway and around into the Troy’s kitchen. It was big and modern and, to be honest, a bit messy. Children’s artwork covered the fridge along with bright alphabet magnets and school pictures. He smiled. “I brought you a peanut butter pie,” he said.

“Thank you so much!” Bethany gestured at the island. “You can just set it there --” She bent to open the oven.

“Pie!” Teddy waved chubby fists at Bitty as he set the pie on the island. Laughing, Bitty crossed the kitchen to pick Teddy up out of his high chair. 

“Hey, little buddy,” he said. “Having a good day?”

Teddy beamed at him as Bethany turned around, a tray of roasted vegetables in hand. She was as pretty as ever, dark hair in a messy bun.

“Oh my Lord,” Bitty said, catching sight of her stomach. The bulge wasn’t that big, but it definitely hadn’t been there last week. Had it? “Are you --” She had to be pregnant. Right? Oh, Lord, but it was rude to ask. Bitty shut his mouth. 

Bethany laughed. “Pregnant? Yes. We don’t announce them, not really --” She transferred vegetables to a serving bowl. “It’s kind of old hat by now, anyway.”

“Well -- congratulations!” Bitty readjusted Teddy on his hip. “Goodness, I’d hug you but my arms are all full. Do you know what it is, yet?”

“Christopher never wants to know until it’s here,” Bethany said.

Teddy got a handful of Bitty’s shirt. “Here to dinner?” he asked.

“Yes,” Bitty said, “we’re here for dinner. Lord, you’re big! How big are you, now?”

“I wear a jacket,” Teddy said, and Bethany laughed.

They got dinner on the table pretty quickly between the two of them -- roasted vegetables, baked chicken, a tray of rolls. It wasn’t terribly fancy, but it felt so… normal. Bitty set the butter on the table with a faint twinge in his stomach. If they had iced tea, it would’ve been perfect.

Just like home.

Jeff corralled the older children for handwashing while Christopher and Kent came in, taking seats at the table without a single pause in their conversation about Tampa’s playmaking skills. Bethany cleared her throat a moment later. “Boys?” she said.

“Ah --” Christopher traded a glance with Kent before looking up at her. “Sorry, babe.”

Kent pulled the chair beside him out for Bitty to sit just as Juli ran into the dining room, followed closely by Oliver and Jeff. 

Bethany cleared her throat once everyone was seated. “You know the rules,” she said, sparing a smile for Bitty. “As long as you keep one foot on the floor, you can reach for whatever you want. And --” this time, the glance was for Jeff, “-- no hockey at the table.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, already reaching for the plate of chicken.

After dinner and pie, Christopher had Juli and Oliver help him with dishes. Bitty carried plates to the kitchen for them, laughing as Juli bossily told her brother to dry the dishes  _ better _ . Returning to the table, he wiped Teddy’s face.

“I should put him down for bed,” Bethany said.

“I’ll do it,” said Jeff. 

“I’d love to,” Bitty added.

“Well, I --”

Christopher came through, stopping behind Bethany’s chair to lean down and kiss her cheek. “C’mon, Beth, let him do it. You look tired.” He rubbed her shoulders for a minute.

“All right,” she said, after a long moment. “Just -- don’t wait, yeah?”

“We’ll do it now,” Bitty said, lifting Teddy from his little chair. “Won’t we, Ted? Let’s go wash your face.”

Jeff showed Bitty where things were, both of them heading upstairs to put Teddy to bed while Kent and Christopher went back to talking shop. 

“So,” said Jeff, scrubbing at Teddy’s face, “you coming to Florida in a few days?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty said. “Kent’s, y’know. He hasn’t said much about it.” Bitty hadn’t wanted to assume he’d travel to the away games, so he’d avoided asking. Besides, somebody had to watch the cats, didn’t they?

“What? No. You’re coming,” Jeff said. He took the towel Bitty offered and patted Teddy’s face. “I think he’d feel better if you did.” He hoisted Teddy up, wiggling him. “C’mon, champ. Let’s get you in bed, eh?” Glancing at Bitty, he smiled. “Plus, you can help Bethany. I think she’ll need it, don’t you?”

Bitty laughed. “Right,” he said. He was willing to bet that Bethany would take any help she could get, considering. “Well --”

“I’m brushing my teeth first!” Julianna barrelled into the bathroom, stopping in her tracks when she saw Bitty. “Oh,” she said. “Aren’t you done?”

Oliver peeked in after her. “We gotta brush our teeth,” he said.

“Okay, okay,” said Jeff, handing Teddy to Bitty. “C’mon. I’ll start the timer.”

Bitty carried Teddy to the nursery, settling him down into his bed. “You won’t be the baby much longer,” he said, arranging blankets carefully. “What’ll we do about that, hmm? Young man?”

Teddy smiled.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Jeff poked his head in. “All done?” he asked.

“Yeah, but he’s not sleeping yet,” Bitty said.

“Yeah.” Jeff came in, sitting down next to the bed. “Well, I gotta tell him a story.” He smiled at Bitty. “Thanks for helping, but I got this. You should go back down and see if Christopher and Kent are done dissecting tomorrow’s game.” 

That meant he ought to go  _ make _ Kent be done and take him home. Bitty gave Teddy one last smile. “G’night, Teddy,” he said.

“Night, Pie,” Teddy said.

Bitty headed back downstairs, slipping into the living room where the television was on, volume down low. They were watching tape again, Christopher and Kent. Pressing a hand to Kent’s shoulder, Bitty leaned down. “Honey,” he said. “We ought to get goin’, huh?”

Kent stretched up to kiss Bitty’s cheek. “All right,” he said, “all right.” Glancing at Christopher, he smiled. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?” 

“Yep.” Christopher switched off the television. “I should go to bed, anyway. Getting old.” He grinned. “See you tomorrow, Eric. Thanks for coming to dinner.”

“Thank you for having me,” Bitty said.

They said a quick good night before heading home, running through a shared shower before climbing into bed. Kent pulled Bitty close, nuzzling his neck. “Love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too,” said Bitty. He caught Kent’s mouth with his in a gentle kiss. “Hey. I’m coming to Florida, aren’t I?”

“Mmm.” Kent’s arms tightened around Bitty’s torso. “I’m not going to be good company, love,” he murmured, voice soft and rumbly against the back of Bitty’s neck. “I don’t want you to think you can’t come, but -- I --” he took a breath. “I don’t want you to have a bad time. Because of me.”

“Oh, baby.” Bitty wriggled around, twisting until they were facing each other. “I don’t care. It’s the  _ Stanley Cup Finals _ . I’m sure I’ll love it. D’you want me to watch you play?”

“Always,” Kent said.

Well, that was that. “Then I’m coming,” Bitty said. 

The Aces, unfortunately, didn’t fare much better for game 2, despite optimistic projections of home ice advantage before the game. They headed to Florida empty-handed, and Bitty was glad that he'd be sitting with Bethany and the kids instead of with the other Aces partners. Jack sent him a sweet text, wishing Kent good luck and hoping that Bitty was having fun.

Game 3 started with some chippiness and some hard forechecking by both teams. Conacher laid a big hit on Carlson just inside the Vegas blueline. Kucherov sent a no-look pass across the crease to Namestnikov, who tucked it right in behind Sariysky, blocker side. The first period ended with the Lightning leading shots, but only just.

The second started with an Aces powerplay as Kunitz slashed McAlvain. With just three seconds left in the powerplay, Jeff Troy took a cross-crease pass from Kent and shot the puck right in, skating away with one arm already open for Kent’s incoming enthusiasm. They were tied, 1-1, and the game went to the third period with mounting pressure for both teams.

An accidental high-stick from Sergachev gave Vegas another powerplay, and this time Kent’s shot sifted its way through five bodies to bounce off Palat and into the goal. The rest of the third was a slog, both teams battling for points but no shots going in. The last minute of the game saw Coburn in the box for holding and Carlson scoring the game winner on a Vegas powerplay.

Bitty hated Carlson, he’d decided, but he’d screamed for that goal regardless. 

At the hotel, Kent threw himself at Bitty, knocking them both down into the bed where they just laid for a while, tangled up in each other. Pressing kisses to the side of Bitty’s neck, Kent tucked in close, sighing.

“Y’all played well today, baby,” Bitty said.

“Mmm.” Kent kissed him again. 

The first ten minutes of Game 4 showed just how deadly Vegas could be when they had all their horses running. Kent made a fast break for the goal five minutes in, forcing an unbelievable save out of Vasilevskiy. Tampa’s defense was caught puck-watching as Anderssen fired the puck in behind Vasilevskiy off the rebound. Tampa Bay didn’t even register a shot on goal for the first seven minutes of the period, not a great start -- and Vegas sank in two more shots before the buzzer sounded.

Coming into the second down three, the Lightning were vicious. They finally got on the scoreboard halfway through the period, with Point feeding a perfect pass to Gourd for a tip-in. A few minutes later, Paquette made contact with Christopher’s left knee during a collision along the boards. It didn't look that serious at first. Bitty glanced at Bethany and the kids, just to make sure no one was needlessly worried -- but one look at Bethany's set face made him realize it might be worse than he thought. Christopher was helped off the ice and past the bench entirely. He didn't return for the rest of the game. Bethany was subdued as she checked her phone at every opportunity.

Christopher’s leaving the ice seemed to light a fire in Tampa -- they scored twice after the hit, tying the game up before the beginning of the third. When Vegas took the ice for the last twenty minutes of the game, Bitty’s nerves were on fire. McAlvain got a goal just ten seconds into the third, and Kent followed it with a one-timer eight minutes later. The Lightning struggled to get their forecheck beyond the perimeter, but the damage was done. The Aces won, 5-3.

Back at home for Game 5, the Aces would be without Christopher for the rest of the series. Knee injuries could go either way, but it wasn’t Christopher’s first rodeo. His left knee was already worse than his right, and his ACL and MCL were both torn. He was looking at surgery and recovery over the summer. 

Kent was in overdrive going into the fifth game. He often spent extra time at practice, anyway -- too much, maybe, and he was always exhausted when he got home, but this was different. When Kent still wasn’t back over an hour and half after Bitty had expected him, he texted Jeff. 

_ Aren’t y’all done yet? _

It took a minute for Jeff’s reply to come through.  _ I’ll go get him. _

Not half an hour later, Bitty jumped as the door to the garage yanked open. He avoided burning his hand on the oven door, but only just. Letting out a breath, he quickly shut it. 

Kent threw his keys down onto the counter after slamming the door behind him. Jeff yanked it open not a minute later. “Hey!”

“Asshole! I wasn’t  _ done! _ ” Kent snapped.

“Don’t you  _ fucking _ talk to me like that,” Jeff said. 

“I was  _ working _ on something!” Kent tugged at a bit of his hair.

“I know,” Jeff said. “But we can work on it tomorrow, fuck.” He leaned on the cabinet. “I’m helping you, you dick.”

“Sweetpea,” Bitty said, and Kent turned to look at him. 

“Hey, you,” he said, voice still holding a faint edge.

“Hi, baby.” Bitty put a hand on Kent’s arm. “I made spaghetti.” Kent loved spaghetti. It was a comfort food thing.

“Really?” Kent softened, stepped in closer. 

“I was worried because you weren’t home yet,” Bitty said. “It’s kind of late.” With Game 5 the next day, Kent would want to go to bed early. He always did.

Kent glanced at the clock, and then back at Jeff. “I’m sorry,” he said, after a minute.

“Forget it.” Jeff shrugged. “Just -- go set the table, or something.” He pushed away from the counter, running a hand through his hair.

“I already set the table,” Bitty said. He pressed a kiss to Kent’s cheek. “Both of y’all, go wash your hands, now. The bread’s almost out of the oven.”

“Oh,” said Jeff, pausing. He’d clearly been headed for the door. “I -- okay.”

Kent stayed in the kitchen to wash his hands, scrubbing them under the hot water with bright, foamy lemon soap.

That night he had a nightmare, his first in quite some time, and Bitty spent an hour just holding him on the sofa.

Not wanting to sit in a box without Bethany, Bitty sat right next to the glass for Game 5, stomach in knots. It was a tense game right out of the gate, both teams ratcheting up speed and going for the throat. Cedric Paquette came down behind the net and hit Jeff Troy from behind into the boards. Tremblay, unhappy with the hit, made a beeline for Paquette and tripped him, despite the referee’s arm already being up for a penalty. After a bit of a melee, the linesmen got both teams settled and doled out dual penalties on both sides, leaving the game at even strength.

The feistiness carried over into the third with Paquette coming for Jeff Troy once again just beside the Aces crease. Jeff, taking exception to being checked once again by Paquette, dropped his gloves -- something that hardly  _ ever _ happened. He took the penalty for roughing, giving Tampa a powerplay and leaving the Aces down a man for two minutes. Still, Bitty had maybe never seen a hockey player look as unrepentant as Jeff, helmet off in the penalty box. He lounged back in his seat, taking his two minutes like a well-earned break. 

The Aces penalty kill kept them alive despite Tampa having one of the best powerplays in the league. They spent the rest of the period in the Lightning’s defensive zone, shoving shot after shot at Vasilevskiy until something went through. Vegas was hungry and angry, and it showed.

In the end, the Aces would be going to Florida one game up on the Lightning.

Packing up for an away game with Kent felt… weird. Bitty had talked to him on roadies a million times, but this was the first time he was  _ travelling _ with him. Without Bethany and the kids as a buffer, Bitty worried about sitting in the box with the rest of the Aces significant others. He’d always focused on the kids or the game and so had everyone else. Stuffing Señor Bun into his suitcase, he glanced back up to find Kent just leaning in the doorway, smiling at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Kent. “I just --” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Crossing the room, Bitty wound his arms around Kent’s waist. “Of course, Mr. Parson,” he said.

Kent laughed. “I love you, Mr. Bittle,” he said.

“Thank goodness they let that Netherfield, huh?” Bitty pressed a kiss to Kent’s cheek. “C’mon, I gotta finish packing. Should I bring the lucky underwear?”

Kent laughed again, and Bitty’s stomach felt warm and light.

The Aces’ return to Tampa didn’t go as well as the first stint there. They lost Game 6, 2-1, which meant the series was tied. They’d have to go to Game 7.

Kent was exhausted on the plane ride home, and he was clearly torn between sitting next to Jeff for good luck, like always, and sitting next to Bitty. It was cute, really, how dedicated he was to idiotic hockey superstition. After Kent agonized over the seats for more than two minutes, Jeff had had enough.

“Forget it, man,” he said. “I’m sitting with Saints.”

Both teams were back in Vegas for the seventh game, and Kent was a nervous wreck. Curled up on the sofa with Bitty, both of them just staring at the television, he couldn’t stop fidgeting. “I don’t wanna think about it anymore,” Kent said, finally, “I just --”

Bitty kissed him. He moved his lips up the line of Kent’s jaw to his ear, stroked gentle fingers along the side of Kent’s face. “Focus on me, then,” he said, sliding into Kent’s lap.

Kent wound his arms around Bitty, burying his face against Bitty’s chest.

Bitty rubbed Kent’s back for a moment, thinking. He needed to relax. What was that thing Jack taught him on the airplane to Vegas? Just breathe. Count to four. “Hey, sweetpea,” he said, after a moment. “Let’s just breathe for a moment, yeah?”

Kent nodded without moving his face away from Bitty’s shirt.

“I’ll count for us,” Bitty said. “Just breathe when I count, okay? In for four counts and out for four counts.”

Kent nodded again. 

“One…” Bitty counted slowly, one hand on Kent’s back. After a couple of counts, Kent’s death grip on the back of Bitty’s shirt loosened. They cycled through the counts ten times before Bitty paused, tilting his head. “Better?”

Pushing back just enough to look up, Kent pressed a soft kiss to Bitty’s lips. “Better,” he agreed.

When Jack called, Bitty left Kent napping on the sofa to take it in Jeff’s room. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, answering the call just before it flipped over to voicemail. Settling onto the bed, Bitty stretched an arm. Lord, he was tired.

“Hey, Bits,” said Jack. “Um. How’s it going?”

Bitty laughed. “Oh, you know,” he said. “Stressful as all get-out. How’s Montreal?” Jack was home with his parents now that the Falconers were out of the playoffs.

“It’s good,” Jack said. They chatted for a few minutes about their days before lapsing into silence. Bitty heard Jack swallow. “I miss you,” he said.

“I miss you, too,” said Bitty, leaning back against the pillows. He rubbed his face with one hand. “I used that thing you taught me today, with the breathing?”

“You did?” Jack paused. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh!” Bitty realized Jack might think he’d meant he used it for himself. “Not for me. I mean, I -- for Kent,” he said. “He’s sort of --”

“Freaking out?” There was a warmth to Jack’s voice. “You’ve got a great pair of boyfriends for that, you know.”

Bitty laughed. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I just wish pie worked a little better on the both of you.”

Jack’s laugh, bright and happy, brought a smile to Bitty’s face.

“It’s almost over, anyway,” Bitty said. “And then there’s a whole summer to enjoy!”

“About that,” Jack said. “I was going to ask you -- um. I know you’re going to be in Vegas and then… Calgary?” 

“Yes,” Bitty said. “And you’ll be in Montreal, right?”

“Some,” Jack said. “But when are you --” he cleared his throat. “When will you head back to Samwell?”

“Well,” said Bitty, “I need to be back a little early…”

“Do you want to come back a week early and stay with me?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” Bitty said, voice soft. “I really do. But -- you know you can call me on Skype, right?” Jack was still just calling him over the phone. It wasn’t bad, it was just -- he missed  _ seeing _ him.

“I know,” said Jack. “Next time. I just don’t want to make things… awkward for you.”

It wasn’t awkward when Kent called Bitty at Jack’s place. “It won’t be,” Bitty said. “Don’t worry.”

They stayed on the phone for a while longer, until Jack yawned mid-sentence. Glancing at the clock, Bitty realized all at once that they weren’t in the same time zone. Jack had to be  _ exhausted _ .

“Oh, honey,” Bitty said. “It’s so late there! I completely forgot. Go to bed!”

After saying good night to Jack, Bitty padded back out to the living room in his socks, stopping by the kitchen to shut off lights. Kent was just where he’d left him, which meant that they really needed to move their cuddle party upstairs to bed.

The stadium was packed for Game 7. Bitty sat up with Bethany and Christopher, but it was hard to remain seated. There was so much riding on that one game -- it was the end of the line, no matter what. The game started off with two back-to-back penalties for the Lightning. Their penalty kill, always precise, took care of those handily, and Vegas wasn’t able to capitalize on the opportunities. Despite added pressure in the second half of the first, neither team made it onto the boards, and they went into intermission tied at 0.

Conacher got into a scrap with Excell right out of the gate to start the second, leaving both teams short a man. Hedman got the puck over into the Aces zone, but took it back over into the Lightning’s side to allow for a line change. Once Kucherov was on the ice, Hedman sent him a beautiful pass to set up the first goal of the game. Not even a minute later, Tyler Johnson went deep into the Vegas zone again, relentlessly attacking Sarisysky until Stralman was able to get the puck in.

With Tampa up 2 and the stakes so high, Vegas went into full attack mode. Kent managed to get one in behind Vasilevskiy off a beautiful breakaway. Five minutes later, Excell redirected a shot from Namestnikov to net another, tying the game. The rest of the second was a flurry of meaningless activity as each team worked hard at shutting the other down.

The third period felt like the longest twenty minutes of Bitty’s entire  _ life _ . Both teams forced nearly every entry to the outside, making life hell for anyone entering the slot -- and the period dragged on in a 2-2 tie until the last five minutes. After a quick line change for Vegas, both teams stepped on the gas as time ticked away. With half a minute left in regulation, Kent sent a blind pass to Jeff, catching sight of him just in time to watch him tip in the game winning goal mere seconds before the buzzer.

Moments later, Jeff slammed into Kent, knocking him into the boards with the force of his hug. They were screaming. Confetti exploded over the rink, metallic black and maroon bits flying everywhere. 

They did it. The Las Vegas Aces had repeated their Stanley Cup win.

Bitty knew that the box around him erupted in screams, but he barely noticed it. The players on the ice, laughing and screaming and hugging each other, took all his attention. Kent was somewhere in the middle of a huge pile of guys, probably pinned up next to Jeff. 

He had to get down there.

Leaving the box, Bitty sprinted for the tunnel. Pushing through people with a rudeness that would’ve appalled his mother, Bitty forced his way onto the ice. “Kent!” Bitty ran forward, heart thudding in his chest when Kent turned and he caught sight of his flushed face, bright with a smile.

“Eric!” He opened his arms immediately.

“Y’all did it! Y’all did it!” Flinging his arms around Kent’s neck, Bitty laughed as Kent spun them in a circle on top of the rainbow ace of spades in the ice. He buried his face against Kent’s shoulder.

“We made it,” Kent murmured, voice very soft.

“Honey! You did it,” Bitty said, pulling back enough to stare up at Kent’s face. Lord, he was beautiful, all flushed and brilliant against the lights, blond hair a mess.

“God. Eric.” Kent’s hands were warm through Bitty’s sweater as he hugged him tightly again, voice still pitched soft so only Bitty could hear. “I wish I could kiss you right now.” 

Bitty’s throat felt tight.  _ I wish I could kiss you. _ “Kiss me,” he said, after a moment.

“What?” Kent looked down at him. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Bitty asked, staring at Kent’s eyes, impossibly blue that day. After all, Kent was out. He’d been out for a long time. He was beautiful and they were  _ happy _ and they’d  _ won _ . Why not? His hands tightened on Kent’s sleeves. “You want to. I want you to. Why can’t we?”

Kent took a shallow breath. The complicated color of his eyes suggested that he could think of, was thinking of, so many reasons, but -- “... Yeah,” he murmured. His eyes searched Bitty’s face and then he took another breath, deeper this time. “Yeah.”

“Kiss me,” Bitty said, lifting his chin, heart pounding in his chest.

Kent pressed a trembling hand to the side of Bitty’s face, traced the swell of a cheekbone with his thumb. The kiss, when it came, was gentle and sweet, full of longing and love. They broke apart, only for a moment, foreheads resting together.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” Bitty whispered.

“Us.” The reply was soft, barely audible. “I’m proud of us.” Kent kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you piesnpucks and rhysiana, as always, for your help and suggestions. you guys make this story better and i appreciate you so much.
> 
> and thank you guys for reading :) i appreciate each and every one of you!


	39. you're not gonna reach my telephone

It was a crazy night. Bitty didn’t think he’d ever known Kent to drink as much as he’d had that night, but happiness looked good on him. Celebrating was, in Bitty’s opinion, overdue anyway -- they’d won the freaking  _ Cup _ and last time, Kent hadn’t really been able to celebrate that much due to his concussion. This time he was laughing and happy and completely unwilling to stop touching Bitty for more than five minutes at a time, even if it was just holding hands. 

Tremblay had insisted on them all going to a gay club because he thought, for some reason, that Kent would want to. When Kent didn’t decline, Bitty found himself stuffed in a car with Jeff on one side and Kent on the other, and he didn’t really remember arriving at the club at all other than that, hadn’t been able to focus on anything except a deluge of texts and missed calls. Dancing and drinking sounded a lot better than dealing with the never-ending vibration of his phone. Bitty tucked it into a pocket as he got out of the car, letting the music and people drown it out. He could be forgiven for not taking his mother’s calls.

Right?

The club was… giant. Three different dance floors with three different music styles kind of giant. There were lights and glitter everywhere, people all over the place. Bitty had always known Vegas could be wild -- fuck, it was  _ Vegas _ . Still, he’d never gone out with Kent before. They’d never gone dancing or drinking. And Kegsters were one thing, big and crazy and alcohol-fueled, but this? This was another beast entirely. Vegas could be wild for anyone, but for millionaire athletes who’d just won the biggest trophy in their sport? It would’ve been hard for Bitty’s imagination to come up with the kind of partying they were prepared to do. Really, really hard. And Bitty was pretty sure he’d already out-performed his previous records in the drinking department.

Kent’s eyes were bright as he flung his arms around Jeff’s waist, pulling at him. “Jeffrey! C’mon. Dance with us. Please?”   
The music thudded in his chest and Bitty grinned, holding out a hand. “C’mon!”   
“I can’t dance like that,” Jeff protested, pulling back a little even as Kent dragged him onto the dance floor.   
Didn’t they go dancing regularly, though? Bitty frowned. “Yes, you can,” he said, grabbing Jeff’s hand. 

“Nobody will notice your shitty dancing,” Kent said, a moment later, and Jeff flushed a little. Sliding a hand around Jeff’s waist, Kent moved behind him. “Don’t worry.”   
“I’m not worried,” Jeff said.   
Kent laughed. “Liar.” 

Bitty was going to say something else, he really was, but then they were playing Beyoncé, and when the DJ played Beyoncé? A guy had to dance. Non-negotiable.

  
It was late when they got back to the house, Bitty and Kent and Jeff and Saints and a bunch of other guys, continuing the party well after what anyone could call a respectable hour. When they’d finally decided that they just couldn’t take any more, Bitty went upstairs first, leaving Kent to say goodnight to Jeff and tell people where to sleep. He switched his Twitter and Instagram over to private and replied to Jack’s texts before setting his phone aside, rolling away from it to face Kent’s side of the bed.

Kent collapsed next to him, tugging him in close. 

“Hi, baby,” Bitty murmured. “Good day?” He brushed gentle fingers down the side of Kent’s face.

“Great day,” Kent said. Turning his face, he pressed a kiss to Bitty’s palm. “You?” 

“Mmm.” Bitty closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Great day.”

Kent fell asleep with his face pressed to Bitty’s neck. 

The Aces’ post-Cup press conference the following morning went -- really well, actually, from Bitty saw on TV. The press had gotten used to Kent dodging questions about his personal life, so aside from a few questions about who he’d kissed and how he’d met him, they stuck to asking about the Cup and the game so that they could get actual answers. Jeff got more questions than usual, due to the game-winning goal and his brother’s injury during playoffs.

Bitty was glad, still, that he hadn’t gone with Kent. The idea of dealing with a whole bunch of reporters was a bit much, especially since he still hadn’t spoken to his parents. Jeff and the others did so well that it hardly mattered that Bitty wasn’t there, anyway. Kent only spoke about hockey, gave vague answers about respecting privacy to other questions, and generally steered them toward asking questions of the other players as well. It was a relief, but only until Bitty checked his email and realized that his YouTube channel was getting flooded with comments. They’d found him already.

That didn’t take long.

Kent opted not to go out that night. They stayed home instead, cooking dinner -- spaghetti -- and curling up on the sofa. Kent kept glancing at Bitty, fidgeting a little as they watched TV. After a few minutes, Bitty rubbed the back of Kent’s neck.

“Honey,” he said. “What’s the matter?” 

“Nothing,” said Kent, quickly. He chewed his lower lip. “Just, um. Are you, like. Are you doing okay?”

Bitty blinked. “I’m fine, honey,” he said.

“I mean, like. With all this stuff,” Kent said. “The kiss on the ice and everything. It’s --”

“Kind of a lot?” Bitty suggested.

“Kind of a lot,” Kent agreed, and Bitty realized, suddenly, that Kent hadn’t called his mother, either, nor taken a call from her.

“Are you?” he asked. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” said Kent, the corner of his mouth curving into a tiny half-smile. “I’m great.” 

Great. Bitty ran his tongue over his lower lip. They hadn’t really ever discussed Kent’s coming out. Their kiss on the ice felt like round two of that, even though it was so long ago, now. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” Kent said.

“Sweetpea,” said Bitty, rolling his eyes, “come  _ on _ .”

“Yes,” said Kent, winding his arms around Bitty to tug him in closer, “yeah. Go on. What’s up?”

“You remember when you, um. Jack’s dad’s thing, when you accidentally --”

“Came out on television?” Kent interrupted. “Yeah, I seem to recall that.”

“How was, um. How was your mom? After?”

Kent stiffened a little. “Is that really something you wanna talk about right now?” he asked. “Because I don’t think your parents are gonna say what she said, Eric.”

Bitty swallowed. “You don’t?”

“No,” said Kent. “I don’t.” 

“Is that why you didn’t call her?” Bitty asked. “Last night, I mean?” He paused. “What did she say?”

Kent sighed, loosening his grip on Bitty just a little, pulling away. “ _ Tu vas aller en enfer _ ,” he said. “More or less.”

Bitty’s stomach hurt. This wasn’t  _ congratulations on your Cup win!  _ talk at all. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Kent said. He paused, pressed a kiss to the side of Bitty’s neck. “You wanna take a bath?”

“Yes, please,” Bitty said.

They took care of their dishes before heading upstairs, where Kent turned on the hot water and, once he’d stepped out of the bathroom, Bitty tempered it with cold just a bit. He still hadn’t managed to be able to stand the scalding way Kent ran his bath -- and shower, sometimes. Returning with a large green ball in his hand, Kent dropped the bath bomb into the water and it fizzed, releasing swirls of blue and green. Bitty closed his eyes, took a breath. 

It smelled like a forest. 

“Guess we’re doing all the post-game stuff late, huh?” Kent asked, stripping without further preamble.

Spaghetti, snuggles, a bath -- he wasn’t wrong. “Yeah,” Bitty agreed, “we sure are.”

Kent stepped into the tub first, relaxing into it almost immediately. As Bitty eased into the water, Kent pressed a gentle hand to his hip. 

“You made it colder, didn’t you?” he said.

“Yes, honey, I did,” Bitty said, settling back against Kent’s chest. “On account of me valuing my skin, and all.”

Kent’s laugh rumbled against his back and Bitty closed his eyes, too. They soaked in quiet for a while, just breathing, and Bitty leaned his head back against Kent’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I was pressin’ you about your mama,” Bitty said.

“It’s all right,” said Kent.

“I just --” Bitty swallowed. “I don’t want them to hate me,” he whispered, after a long moment of silence.

“I know,” said Kent, tightening his arms around Bitty’s waist. 

When they got out of the tub, Kent pulled on loose clothes to go make a cup of tea while Bitty headed for the bedroom. He settled on the side of the bed and glanced at the clock. He’d been putting this off long enough, hadn’t he?

The door creaked open and Kent shuffled in, carrying two cups of what smelled like Jeff’s mother’s mint tea. Purrs followed him in, jumping up onto the bed. Kent set the mugs down on the bedside table. 

“I set some things to private,” Bitty said, looking down at his phone. “I mean, I already had some stuff on private, but I took care of the rest of them today.”

“I’m sorry you have to do that,” Kent said. He did not add an  _ I told you so _ , but… well, judging by prior conversations they’d had, Kent had sort of expected it. They both knew that. They both knew it was one of the reasons he’d hesitated to kiss on the ice. He tugged his shirt up.

“I don’t  _ have _ to,” Bitty said, because he didn’t, because Kent would never have expected him to, because he’d done it for himself. “But I should call home.”

“What -- right now?” Kent asked, pausing.

Bitty’s stomach tightened. “I should, shouldn’t I?”

“If you want to,” Kent said, pulling the hem of the shirt back down, leaving it on.

Did he  _ want _ to? Bitty stared down at his phone.

“It’s okay,” Kent said, “if you don’t.” He paused. “You know what you wanna say?”

“No,” Bitty said, but that didn’t matter. He could feel it in his chest -- he had to call home. He’d put it off long enough. 

Kent sat gently on the side of the bed. 

Bitty pressed the call icon and waited, holding his breath until she picked up. “Hi, Mama.”

“Dicky? Oh, my --”

“Hi… I got Daddy’s text. S-sorry I didn’t call.”

“Oh  _ honey _ , we assumed you were out celebrating!!” 

Fair. He  _ had _ been out celebrating. A lot, actually. Bitty laughed.

“Congratulations!! To you and -- to you and Kent,” she said. “We watched the whole thing! We were hollering when Troy got that goal and -- we’re so happy for y’all! We’re so happy for you and Kent!”

“Th-thank you, Mama.” He sniffed, pulling his knees up to his chin, pressed his face against them.

“Dicky, honey, I love you, okay?” she said. “Me and your daddy.”

Bitty sniffed again. Hot tears spilled over his cheeks. “Mama, I’m sorry,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“No, honey,” she said. “No, no,  _ no _ . I’m --”

“I just didn’t know what to say,” Bitty said. He still didn’t.

“Dicky -- I’m sorry, Dicky.” Suzanne took a breath. “We love you so much. Okay? You and Kent. We’re -- we didn’t know. And if you’re together with him, we can figure it all out.” 

If? Bitty frowned. What did that mean,  _ if _ ? Jesus. 

“And you can come home,” she added.

“Mama, I love him,” Bitty said, and the words didn’t feel big enough, strong enough. They’d been together for… god, for three years, if he counted their talking back in 2013. His chest hurt. “And I didn’t know if you and Daddy would understand.”

“Honey --”

Kent’s arm was gentle around Bitty’s back, hand warm on Bitty’s shoulder. “Mama,” Bitty said, “I’m gay.”

Leaning over just a little, Kent flipped the bedside lamp on. Gold light, soft and warm, spilled over the bedsheets. His arm slid back around Bitty’s shoulders, just a little. Enough.

“I -- I know you love Kent,” Suzanne said. “And that’s fine. We can figure all that out. But just know that we always want you home, okay? Please don’t think you can’t come home. We want you home.”

Right. They wanted him home. And that was fine, it was just -- Bitty had other plans. He wanted to keep those plans. “I -- But I don’t think I’m coming home this summer,” Bitty said, trying not to think about what his mother’s face must look like, hearing him say it.

“You -- you don’t want to come home any more?”

“No. I do, but. I want to stay here with Kent.” Pushing away from the bed, Bitty stood up. “I want to be with him right now.” He paused, swallowed. “And you know how Madison is -- it’s such a small town. I can’t…”

“... If that’s how you want it, you know that’s just fine,” she said. “I mean, you’re old enough, after all.”

They were dodging something, still. “What did Daddy say?” Bitty asked, turning away from the bed.

She was quiet a moment. “You know he loves you, Dicky.”

“But, what did he say?”

“That Kent played a good game. Just a strong game. And. That he hopes you’re enjoying all the excitement.”

Right. Of course. What else would Coach say, honestly? What had Bitty expected? “Oh,” he said. “Okay.” He took a breath. “Mama, Imma go. We’ve got the parade. -- Aces parade, tomorrow. But I’ll call you.” 

“I love you,” said Suzanne.

“I love you, too. I love you, Mama.” Bitty paused as she congratulated him -- and Kent -- again, talked about calling again soon, told him she loved him. “Thank you. All right. Bye.”

Turning back around, he flopped face down onto the bed. 

After a moment, Kent pulled him further up onto the mattress, snuggling in close. Bitty wound their legs together, letting out a heavy breath.

“You wanna talk about this, or nah?” Kent asked.

“Nah,” Bitty said.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Kent kissed his hair and then wiggled a little, getting comfortable. “You’re tired, huh?”

He was tired, but he didn’t want to talk about that, either. “You’re a Stanley Cup champion,” said Bitty.

“Again,” Kent said, “I’m a Stanley Cup champion  _ again _ .” 

Bitty laughed. “Again,” he agreed.

“I’m also madly in love with you,” said Kent, voice quiet.

“Desperately,” Bitty said. 

“And if you wanna go home,” Kent started to say, “instead of --”

“I don’t,” Bitty said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to rhysiana & agrossunderstatement for edits -- you're amazing!
> 
> sorry for the delay. i injured my hand and have not been able to type much for the last month!!


	40. baby, i

The townhouse Kent rented in Cochrane had fancy electric locks and a beautiful mountain view. A sunny yellow sectional warmed the living room, already bright from the light streaming through large windows. It was a corner unit, and everywhere Bitty looked he could see sky. Peeking into the master bedroom, Bitty smiled at the large bed with its crisp white sheets. Lord, there were flowers on the nightstand.

It was perfect.

“Well?” Kent asked, pushing past him to drop his bags on the floor next to Bitty’s. He leaned his guitar case up against the wall.

“I love it,” Bitty said.

“It’s home for the next month or so,” Kent said, and Bitty wound arms around his waist, pulling in close.

“Mr. Parson,” he said. “You beautiful, charming, extravagant man.”

“I didn’t even show you the kitchen yet,” said Kent, linking his hands behind Bitty’s back. “Swear to God it’s like, the best kitchen ever.”

It _was_ a gorgeous kitchen, all its appliances new and clean and in perfect working order. There was a _Kitchenaid_. The pans were pristine and there was plenty of counter space to work with. Bitty had half expected a galley kitchen and was pleasantly surprised by the open floorplan, living room visible from the kitchen.

“I was going to have the pantry stocked,” Kent said, leaning against the counter as Bitty rooted through cupboards, “but I thought we might like going shopping.”

Of course he did. Bitty couldn’t help but laugh as he shut the cabinet door. “You wanna go to the store now, then?”

“Maybe not _right_ now,” Kent said, stepping in close, pulling Bitty to him once he’d turned back around. “But I mean, I’m gonna be hungry some time.” He grinned, hands sliding down to grip at Bitty’s ass, hoist him up onto the counter.

“Oh?” Bitty looped his arms around Kent’s neck. “Okay. You wanna fuck me in this kitchen first?”

Kent swore and Bitty laughed.

Wandering through a grocery store with linked hands felt like a dream right up until they got into an argument about cereal.

“It’s kind of healthy,” Bitty said, holding the box of Frosted Flakes.

“It’s like, 80 percent sugar, babe,” said Kent, “c’mon.”

“It’s healthy _enough_ ,” Bitty said, and Kent stared at him for a moment before letting out an unnecessarily dramatic sigh. “You love them,” Bitty added.

The box went into their basket along with butter and eggs and a whole mess of other ingredients as they worked their way down their list. Bitty hadn’t thought about how often they might have their photo taken until he realized that a woman down an aisle in front of them had her phone out, pointed right at them. A quick glance to his right showed a father and son advancing, both obviously headed straight for Kent.

“Um,” Bitty said.

“You can go hide in another aisle,” said Kent. “If you want.” He rolled his shoulders back a little, media smile sliding onto his face as the people got closer.

“No,” Bitty said. He wasn’t exactly camera-ready, but he wasn’t going to run away, either.

“Kent Parson!” The little boy couldn’t be older than eleven.

“That’s me!” Kent grinned. “Who’re you?”

“I’m sorry,” said the boy’s father.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Kent, and they spent a few minutes talking about hockey -- the boy played, of course -- and the Stanley Cup before taking a picture and parting ways. As they walked off, Kent laughed a little.

“What?”

“We’re _so_ lucky neither Jeff or Chris were here,” Kent said, and they spent the car ride home discussing the popularity of hometown hockey boys.

The lingering exhaustion of the whirlwind of playoffs and the Cup win settled onto Bitty’s shoulders as he placed bags on the kitchen counter back in the townhouse. Letting out a quiet sigh, he reached in to unpack one of the bags.

Kent pressed a kiss to Bitty’s temple, brushing a gentle hand along his lower back. “Tired?”

“It’s been a crazy couple of months, hasn’t it?” Bitty pulled the fruit out, lining it up on the counter. They’d been together since the last of the playoffs, but they hadn’t really had _time_ for anything.

“I can do this,” Kent said, taking the rest of the grocery bags away. “You can -- unpack, or something. Sit down.”

Bitty laughed. “Unpack,” he said.

“Well, Señor Bun needs some air,” said Kent. He put the cereal in the cabinet. “Seriously, I’ve got this. I’ll start dinner.”  
Shuffling out of the kitchen, Bitty went back into the bedroom to unpack his toiletries and get settled. He put his things in the bathroom and spent a moment deciding whether to prop Señor Bun up on the pillows or give him a peek out the window at the glorious view. After deciding on the bed, Bitty took a moment to look out at the bright blue sky before settling in next to the stuffed rabbit and pulling out his phone. _Hey_ , he sent.

 _Safe in Canada?_ Jack sent back.

 _safe and sound!! the kitchen in the condo is perfect, i’m gonna make some tarts later ;)_ Bitty scooted back onto the mattress. _how’s montreal?_

_C’est bon :)_

_oh, we’re using emojis now??_ Bitty smiled at his phone.

_Ha ha. Did you have a good flight?_

_everything’s fine. <3 I miss you _

_I miss you, too._

Biting his lip, Bitty stared at his phone. The time difference was, what, two hours? They were trading good morning selfies every day, but he missed seeing Jack. _can I skype you later?_

The little dots danced up and down for a brief moment before Jack’s reply came through. _I’d like that._

They settled on a time before Bitty left the bedroom, headed back for the kitchen to check on Kent. He had shrimp in the grilling pan and a bowl of vinaigrette sitting to one side as he chopped things for salad.

 _A Thousand Years_ came on the radio, playing softly in the corner. Kent hummed along, dumping vegetables into a large bowl.

“Really, honey?” Bitty asked. “ _Twilight_?”

“Terrible movies, shit books,” said Kent, looking up, “great song.” He wiped his hands on a towel before crossing the kitchen. Sliding an arm around Bitty’s waist, Kent spun him around before pulling him close. “Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey, you.” Bitty laced their fingers together as they swayed along with the song.

“I missed you.” Kent’s voice came out in a whisper. He curled their combined hands in close, pressing a kiss to Bitty's knuckles. They stayed like that until the song was over, moving slowly to the music. When it ended, Kent’s cheek was pressed to Bitty’s hair. "I've got to check the food," he said, making no effort to move. "Don't want it to burn."  
Bitty was the one that eventually pulled them apart -- they had a month, after all. And he didn't want to have to order takeout on their first night in Canada.  
Kent turned his back, tending to the shrimp for a moment before making sure that the vinaigrette wasn't settling. Lord, but it was nice not to have to give directions in the kitchen.  
Bitty was about to tell him so when he turned back around.

Kent had shrimp tails stuffed in his mouth like fangs. He waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh my God,” Bitty said. “Seriously?”

“What?” Kent pouted, shrimp tails and all. “You’re the one who mentioned _Twilight_.”

“I’m going to cover you in body glitter.”

Kent spat the tails out. “You brought _body glitter_?”

Bitty flicked a shrimp tail at him.

They lounged on the sofa, relaxed and comfortable, the sunset visible from the windows. Kent let Bitty pick something on Netflix, shifting on the sofa to pull him close. After a minute, he sighed.

“What?” Bitty twisted a little, looking at Kent’s face.

Glancing away as his cheeks colored a little, Kent shrugged one shoulder. “I miss Kit.”

“Aww, sweetpea.” Bitty pressed a kiss to Kent’s cheek. “We’ll see the cats again soon. And you can check in with them by webcam, right?”

“Yeah…” Kent brightened a little. “They love the kitty daycare.”

“You sweet thing.” Bitty caught Kent’s mouth with his, television forgotten.

They’d had sex in Vegas -- of course they had, after being apart so long, how could they not? But it was tired, rushed, caught up in the stress of hockey and distance and pressure. That night, with Kent spread out underneath him on the bed, skin flushed, eyes warm, Bitty finally felt like he’d come home. “I love you,” he murmured, adding a third finger and watching Kent’s head tilt back, eyes shut. God, he never got tired of that. “I missed you.”

“I love you, too.” Kent tilted his hips, gripped at the sheets. Impatient. “Eric. Plea--”

Bitty pulled his hand back.

Rolling the condom on, Bitty leaned back just out of Kent’s reach, watching his breath hitch as his fingers tightened on the sheets again before releasing. He waited for Kent to push up onto one elbow, searching for him, before touching him again, curling fingers into hair and gripping at the swell of his hip. Bitty pushed in slowly, savoring the shifting expressions on Kent’s face, the bitten red of his lips.

“God.” Kent’s nails dug into Bitty’s hip, sharp and biting. “ _Eric_. Please.”

Bitty bent his neck, catching Kent’s mouth with his in a lingering kiss before snapping his hips forward that last half inch. “Yes, baby?”

“I --” Whatever Kent was going to say was lost as Bitty pulled back before slowly pushing in again. Kent’s hands ghosted over Bitty’s shoulders, tightened on his biceps as he tried to push back into him.

“I love you,” Bitty murmured, because it was true, because Kent loved hearing it, because Kent relaxed underneath him immediately, winding arms around Bitty’s neck. Sliding a hand down Kent’s side, Bitty rolled his hips again and Kent groaned. God, he was so tight. So good. Bitty swallowed, forcing himself to slow his hips, to drag it out.

“Fuck.” Kent bit at his shoulder. “Fuck, Eric.”

Bitty had always loved the way Kent said his name. Pushing down on Kent’s shoulder with one hand, he leaned back a little, changing the angle as he thrust into Kent again. “Like that?”

“Ah, sh--” Kent jerked his head to the side, bit his lower lip. When he looked back up at Bitty it was with glassy eyes, and his mouth fell open with the next thrust. Fuck, he looked _wrecked_.

Working his hand down between them, Bitty curled his fingers around Kent’s cock, stroking up as he pulled his hips back. Kent fisted a hand in Bitty’s hair, arching up underneath him. “ _Fuck_!”

“Jesus.” Bitty snapped his hips forward, stopped trying to be gentle, allowed himself to get lost in the pull of Kent’s hand in his hair, the taste of salt on his skin, the bite of his nails on Bitty’s back. They were both desperate and demanding and it didn’t take much, barely any time at all, before it was over.

Collapsing on top of Kent, Bitty let out a shaky breath. After a minute, Kent laughed. “Fuck,” he said, arms winding around Bitty’s back.

“Yes,” said Bitty. Damnit, the shower was so far away. He was sticky and hot and -- “I don’t want to move.”

“I know.” Kent kissed his forehead. “C’mon, babe.”

They showered together before curling up in bed, Bitty’s head tucked up under Kent’s chin.

He’d possibly never slept so deeply in his life. Neither of them got up with Kent’s alarm the following morning, but it didn’t matter -- they were blissfully, entirely free. They had nowhere to be, nothing to do, and no one to answer to.

It was glorious.

There were, Bitty learned over the next two days, at least six people in Jeff’s immediate family: Christopher, Jeff, their parents, and three younger sisters. Monica, currently attending the University of Calgary and majoring in energy management, was Kent’s age. Shylen was around Bitty’s age and, as far as he could tell from Kent’s description, was doing something related to engineering in school. Dagny, the youngest, was still in high school.

“That’s a lot of people in one house!” Bitty said, looking at houses along the way as they drove to the Troys’ house for dinner.

“For real,” said Kent. “I’m pretty sure that’s why it’s not in, like, actual Calgary.” As they pulled up to a large house painted a cheerful shade of light blue, he glanced at Bitty. “Ready?”

“You didn’t tell me what Mr. and Mrs. Troy do for a living,” Bitty said, gripping his pie plate. Lord, what if they hated him? Meeting Jeff’s family felt like meeting Kent’s family.

“Other than have millionaire sons, you mean?” Kent laughed, turning the car off. “They’re petroleum engineers.” He opened his door and walked around to open Bitty’s before heading for the front door. He went straight for the handle without knocking, letting them both in. “Mrs. Troy!”

“Parse!”

Bitty looked up to see Jeff leaning over a stair railing, grinning. “Oh,” he said, “hi, Jeff.”

“Hi, Eric.” Jeff lifted his chin. “Take your shoes off.” And then, “Did you bring a pie? I --”

“Kent’s here!” A girl wearing heavy eyeliner shoved at Jeff’s shoulder to stare down at them as Bitty bent to remove his sneakers as Kent slid past him. “Oh. You’re not Kent.”

Bitty laughed. “No,” he said, “I’m --”

“Eric!”

Bitty turned his head. Kent was beckoning from the kitchen. He glanced back to the upper level. “Being summoned,” he said. “I’m being summoned.”

Joining Kent in the open kitchen, Bitty smiled at the middle-aged woman next to him.

“Eric, right?” Mrs. Troy smiled. Her eyes were warm, like Jeff’s. Or was it that his were like hers? Bitty couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Welcome to our home,” she said. “We’ve heard so much about you!”

“Thank you so much for having me,” Bitty said, glancing at Kent. “All good things, I hope?”

Kent pouted. “Babe,” he said. “Really?”

“What do you have there?” asked Mrs. Troy, eyeing the pan in Bitty’s hands.

“It’s just an apple pie,” he said. Glancing around the kitchen, he smiled. “Your home is beautiful.”

“Thank you!” She laughed. “Apple pie is perfect. Just set it right there.” She waved at the counter again. “You two can help me, since you’re here -- you wash your hands before you touch those carrots, Kent. They’re for the salad.”

Kent snatched his hands back from the pile of carrots and guiltily stuck them under the faucet.

Bitty scrubbed his hands with the lemon soap when it was his turn. “What’s dinner?” he asked.

“Just a roast,” said Mrs. Troy. “I --”

“When is dinner?” Jeff asked, pushing into the kitchen followed by Eyeliner Girl and Kevin.

“How can you possibly be hungry again already?” asked Mrs. Troy, but her tone was fond and Bitty noticed the warm way she smiled at Jeff, indulgent and sweet. He bent to kiss her cheek.

“Are Bethany and Christopher already here?” Kent pulled a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water.

“Yes. This is Dagny,” Jeff said, gesturing to eyeliner girl who, on further inspection, looked just like him.

“Nice to meet you, Dagny,” Bitty said.

“You, too,” she said, and Bitty wasn’t sure if she meant it or not. Crouching, he held out a hand to Kevin.

“Hi, Kevin. Do you get a summer vacation, too?” She wagged her tail, bumping up close to him. Bitty scratched behind her ears.

“Bethany and Christopher went to look at the hospital today,” Jeff said, taking Kent’s glass of water and drinking out of it despite his protests. “The kids are playing, or something. Except Teddy, he’s having a nap.”

“Oh, don’t let him sleep too long,” said Mrs. Troy. “I want him to be on a normal schedule --”

“I know, Mom,” Jeff said, and he and Dagny rolled their eyes at exactly the same time. She sent them out to get the kids and start “rounding everyone up” for dinner.

Bitty helped by making salad, unloading the dishwasher under Kent's direction and chattering amicably with Mrs. Troy while she checked her roast.

“Of course we’re all so proud of you boys --” she reached around Bitty to put a bowl in the cabinet. “A repeat! And you two, that was so sweet.” Pausing, she glanced at Kent. “Did Nicolette call you?”

Bitty’s head snapped up. Kent hardly ever talked about his mom. Bitty tried not to ask about her very often because he always got… sad. Quiet.

“No,” said Kent.

“Eric, will you put these on the table for me?” Mrs. Troy handed him a stack of plates. “We’re almost ready.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said, leaving the kitchen with the sneaking suspicion that Mrs. Troy had more to say to Kent about his mother than he’d heard.

Getting the whole family to the table took a bit of time. Christopher and Bethany got back from the hospital at the same time the roast came out of the oven. Jeff put Teddy in the high chair and Monica made sure Oliver and Julianna were in their seats. Mr. Troy and Shylen reached the table at the same time, which left --

“Where’s Dagny?” Christopher looked at the empty chair.

“ _Dagny!_ ” Jeff yelled.

“Jeffrey,” said Mrs. Troy. “How many times have I told you not to yell in this house?”

Jeff looked like he was about to say something but Dagny slid into her seat next to him, a smug grin on her face.

“Ugh.” Jeff rolled his eyes.

Mrs. Troy cleared her throat. “Now. You know the rules,” she said, looking around the table.

“One foot on the floor and you can reach for anything?” Bitty grinned.

“Yep,” said Jeff, tucking stray hair back behind one ear.

Mrs. Troy softened a bit. “It’s so nice to have everyone home.”

There wasn’t any talking for the first few minutes of dinner. Eventually, Mr. Troy glanced at Jeff. “When are you going to Stampede?”

“I dunno,” said Jeff, around a mouthful of potato, “whenever.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Bethany.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he swallowed. “Doesn’t matter. I mean, except for Stoney day, obviously.”

“Giselle’s dancing this year,” said Dagny.

“Oh, I think Julia told me that.” Mrs. Troy nudged Bitty so he’d pass the salad. “That’s great! I can’t wait to see her.”

Bitty glanced at Jeff.

“First Nations stuff,” he said. “Different days for different people. You’ll see.”

“I’ll help you,” Kent said. He smiled his slow, sweet smile, and warmth uncurled in Bitty’s stomach.

It was a good thing they had their own place to stay.

“We’re gonna go for the dog bowl, too,” said Kent, a minute later, and Monica rolled her eyes.

It amazed Bitty sometimes, how alike siblings could be.

“Obviously,” she said. “Is there any other reason to go?”

“Bannocks,” said Jeff and Christopher in unison.

“Welcome to our family,” said Mrs. Troy as Bitty laughed. “Try not to let them murder you with flatbread.”

“So, Eric,” said Shylen, a moment later, “what are your intentions with Kent?” She leaned forward.

Kent choked on his water and both Jeff and Dagny burst out laughing, but Mr. Troy was looking at Bitty like it was an important question.

“Um,” Bitty said, because what was a guy supposed to say when asked what his intentions were with his longtime boyfriend? “They’re... honorable?” He flushed. Honorable, really? Great. Damnit.

“I’m worth at least ten goats,” Kent said, having gotten himself under control despite the ruddy shade of his face, “so you’ll have to pony up.”

“I’ll collect the dowry,” said Jeff. “I could use some goats.”

“Would you take peanut butter cookies instead?” Bitty asked. “I didn’t raise goats in 4H.”

“Ugh.” Monica grabbed a roll out of the basket. “Gross.”

After dinner, Kent and Bitty were exempt from dishes because they’d helped cook. Kent used that as an opportunity to pick the movie they were all going to watch. Bitty piled onto the sofa with him, laughing as they were joined by Kevin and Julianna and Oliver almost immediately. Kent picked _Hercules_ , to the delight of Julianna, and Mr. Troy put the DVD in the player before sitting down in what was obviously _his_ chair.

It was a warm, happy night. Sitting in a living room full of people watching a movie, Bitty almost felt like he was back at the Haus again. Jeff sat next to Mrs. Troy, one arm slung around her shoulders. Once the movie ended, Kent checked his watch.

“We should go,” he said.

“Of course.” Mrs. Troy hugged them both before they left, and Jeff promised to pick them up in the morning.

The Calgary Stampede was the biggest rodeo Bitty had _ever_ seen. Not that he’d spent a ton of time at rodeos -- but still. It reminded him of the Georgia State Fair. Everywhere he looked he saw people in ridiculous amounts of Western wear. There were cowboy hats as far as the eye could see.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“I _know_ ,” said Kent. “It’s like being in a Western snow globe full of horseshoes and Stetsons.”

“I think I just _smelled_ Stetson,” Bitty said, and Jeff laughed.

They went to the morning Grandstand show, because Kent refused to go to the evening one with the chuckwagon racing -- but not before eating breakfast. Jeff and Kent both spent a little time with people who recognized them, but after a bit Kent pulled away, gripping Bitty’s hand.

“C’mon,” he said. “There’s a ton to see. Jeff’ll catch up.”

The sun beat down on them and Kent stopped to pull a little bottle of sunscreen out of his pocket, patting some over Bitty’s neck. “You’re turning pink,” he said.

“So? You’re getting freckles.” Bitty leaned in for a very quick kiss as a breeze stirred their hair.

Jeff caught up with them in time for the dog bowl, which turned out to be a dog show. They jumped over obstacles and performed tricks and, in general, were adorable and excited. It was the most wholesome thing Bitty had ever seen. Jeff and Kent both watched with rapt attention, completely absorbed in the show. Bitty took a couple of videos, sending them to Jack with a bunch of heart and puppy emojis.

In the center, a dog ran in a circle around its trainer, fluffy tail wagging. As the announcer explained into the mic that Lily had been adopted out of Montreal only after five different owners had decided not to keep her, Jeff gasped. “What? _Why_?!”

“It happens,” Kent said. “You know, not every dog is suited for every person, so --”

“She is a _good dog,_ Kent,” said Jeff, bristling.

“You say that about every dog,” Kent said.

“So?” Jeff looked back out at the performing animals. “It’s still true.”

“Oh, Jeff,” Bitty said, “never change.”

Jeff gave him a dirty look.

Afterward, they went to check out the midway, Kent and Jeff trying to beat each other at skee ball. Bitty learned to throw an axe, and it turned out he was pretty good at it -- he came away with a stuffed horse as a prize.

“You should send that to Jack,” Kent said.

Jeff laughed, and Bitty grinned. “That’s a great idea!”

After a couple of beers and several foods that were, in retrospect, a terrible idea, they ended up in a wine garden listening to live country music. Jeff went to find a bathroom, leaving Bitty and Kent alone for a moment. Kent chewed his lower lip, looking around the garden. Winding their fingers together, Bitty pulled in close to Kent’s side.

“Hey,” he murmured, “you okay?”

Kent’s shoulders relaxed just a bit. “Yeah. I think -- I wanna go home, though.”

“Okay,” Bitty said. “We can go home. We can cook real food for dinner, and I’ll read to you tonight. How’s that?”

“I love you,” Kent said.

Kent wanted to shower as soon as they got back, leaving Bitty to his own devices in the kitchen while Jeff took Kevin out after her day in the condo alone. Mixing up a maple-mustard glaze, Bitty hummed along to the radio. If he put the potatoes in to cook now, he could prep the chicken and carrots and put them in to roast, which would -- glancing up, he saw Kent leaning on the counter, smiling. The evening sun caught in his dark gold hair.

“What’s up, sweetpea?”

“Nothing,” said Kent, watching Bitty’s hands. “I’m just happy.”

“Mmm.” Bitty dropped sweet potatoes into a pot of water. “It’ll be a bit until this is ready.”

“Do you need help?”

“No.” It was calm in the kitchen, peaceful. After a long day out, it was heavenly.

Kent curled up on the sofa with a book. Kevin came to sit next to Bitty’s feet and stare up at him with a wistful expression on her thin face. Jeff would _kill_ him if he gave her people food, but she was just so pathetic. Bitty googled whether or not raw carrots were bad for dogs before sneaking her a tiny piece.

“Where’s Jeff?” Bitty set the dish of garlic mashed sweet potatoes on the table. Everything was almost ready.

“He wanted to take a nap,” Kent said, turning a page in his book. “I think he went downstairs.”

“Has it been very long?” Checking the oven, Bitty added two more minutes to his timer for the chicken and carrots. Kent didn’t answer, so Bitty peeked back out of the kitchen. He was just reading, leaning his head against one hand. Bitty smiled.

Heading down the hallway, he opened the second bedroom door.

“Hey,” Bitty said, keeping his voice soft. “Jeff. Honey?” It just slipped out, the words coming without even thinking about it.

“Mmm.” Jeff pressed his face against the pillow.

“You wanna eat dinner?” Bitty asked.

“... Yes,” Jeff said, voice muffled against the pillow.

“Okay,” said Bitty, reaching out to ruffle his hair. It was getting long enough to sit on the collars of his shirts. “Get up, then.”

They ate at the table like a proper little family, even if Jeff _did_ roll his eyes while Kent said grace. Bitty waited for them both to taste their food before starting on his. When Jeff looked up at him with wide eyes a moment later, he paused in chewing his mouthful of chicken.

“What’s on this?” Jeff stared back down at his plate.

Bitty swallowed his chicken. “Maple-mustard glaze.”

“ _Damn_ ,” said Jeff.

Kent laughed.

Later, curled up in bed with nothing between them, Bitty read from _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ , pausing for kisses in between pages. Everything seemed softer -- Kent’s skin, the light from the lamp, the brush of sheets against bare skin. It was easy to imagine a life where he could do this every day, where they weren’t constantly relying on phones and computers for a connection, where he didn’t have to constantly figure out the time difference. Before falling asleep, he pressed a gentle kiss to Kent’s shoulder. “I love you.”

After a couple of days of the city and Stampede, Kent practically begged Jeff to drive them to the mountains. Bitty adored all the photos on Kent’s Instagram from the previous summers, and a night out in the forest sounded perfect after several days of spurs, cowboy boots, and livestock. They agreed to make it an early morning the following day and head out to Banff.

Of course, once Kent’s alarm went off, it was obvious to Bitty that he’d made a horrific mistake. It wasn’t even _light_ outside. Bitty stumbled about while Kent made coffee, wondering why he’d agreed to wake up before God himself.

Jeff didn’t help matters when he arrived, bright-eyed and cheerful with a thermos of coffee already in hand. He managed to look even _taller_ , somehow. Taller and disgustingly well rested.

“Chephren?” Kent asked, tossing a bag into the back of Jeff’s car.

“Obviously,” said Jeff.

“I’m assuming that’s where we’re going,” Bitty said. They’d asked him if he wanted to go camping, which -- _yeah_. Summer was the best time for camping, and they wouldn’t even have to deal with Georgia heat. To be fair, tent camping wasn’t his absolute favorite, but Kent had promised they wouldn’t have to dig a latrine.

“Hiking, yeah,” Jeff said, like it was obvious. “Wanna make the most of daylight.”

Kent yawned. “Where are we camping?”

Jeff rattled off some details about Tunnel Mountain something, but Bitty wasn’t listening -- it was way too early for all this, in his opinion, and he was glad they had a bit of a drive. He stretched out across the backseat. “Wake me when we get there,” he said.

“You’ll miss the drive,” said Kent.

“Wake me when it’s beautiful, then.” Bitty shut his eyes.

Kent woke him after a little while, when the sky was streaked with pink. It really was gorgeous, and Bitty took a moment to just stare out the window of Jeff’s Jeep, sipping from the thermos of hot coffee without saying a word. _For Baby_ by Peter, Paul, and Mary played softly in the background with Kent singing along.

Once they arrived, Jeff parked the car in the cul-de-sac marked for Chephren Lake hiking and put up a sunshade in the windshield. “Here we are,” he said. They piled out of the Jeep, stretching arms and legs.  
  
Their hike started with foot bridges over a river so turquoise -- the Mistaya, Jeff informed him -- that Bitty had to stop and just _stare_ at it for a moment, videoing the with his phone as it rushed by. Kent waited patiently at Bitty’s elbow for a few minutes before laughing and tugging at his shirt. “This isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ll see, babe,” he said. “C’mon.”  
  
Chephren Lake was a popular trail, rated as an easy hike. The trail was pretty flat, but it lead them through the forest. Everywhere Bitty looked, it was green. The air smelled of sunshine and herby trees and thick aromatic plants. When the forest opened on his left to reveal spectacular mountain views, Bitty stopped walking for another moment to take it in.  
  
They crossed log bridges over little streams and marshy patches, continuing through the forest until they reached the shoreline of Chephren Lake. It was even more blue than the river, surrounded by emerald trees and stark grey stone. They were early enough to have avoided a large crowd, giving them a relatively unobscured view of the white-capped mountains.

“Here we are,” Kent said. “Mount Chephren.”

“Oh my lord,” Bitty breathed. It looked like a postcard. Like a movie. He’d never seen anything so picturesque in his whole life. A mild breeze ruffled his hair, neutralizing the warmth from the morning sun.

“I know, right?” Kent stared out at the sky and reached over, lacing their fingers together. “It’s like heaven.”

“If I was gonna believe in god,” Jeff added, “which I completely don’t, I would do it here.” He glanced at Kent, a soft smile on his face.

They hiked a few more trails that day, driving between some as they headed towards the campground they’d reserved. Bitty got a quick snap of a deer, and he _almost_ got what he thought might’ve been a dog, but --

“Was that a coyote?” he asked.

“The butt of a coyote,” said Jeff, “yeah.”

“Where?” Kent craned his neck, almost running into a tree.

“You missed it, sweetpea.” Bitty patted Kent’s shoulder.

He took video of Jeff and Kent setting up the tent, which mostly looked like Kent bossing Jeff about the best place for the tent to go and Jeff doing whatever he wanted regardless of Kent’s opinion. Bitty left them to it while he unloaded the ice chest from the Jeep, carrying it over to the fire pit. He’d spent _hours_ looking for the perfect campfire dinner recipes, and he was looking forward to trying some of them out.

It took a bit to get a fire built, and while he was working on it, Kent and Jeff discussed plans for the following day.

“It’s always busy at Lake Louise,” said Jeff, when Kent suggested it.

“But you have to see it,” Kent said. “It’s beautiful. And we can go early.”

“Let’s do it first then, yeah?” Jeff rubbed the back of his neck.

“I did manage to find some pretty spectacular campfire recipes,” Bitty said. “We can even make dessert.”

“The most important part of camping is the dessert,” said Kent.

“And the weed,” Jeff said.

Bitty laughed.

The air in the mountains tasted crisp and clean, and it turned out that Kent was even _more_ cuddly when he was high than he was normally, which was saying something. Bitty stared up at the stars, running his fingers through Kent’s hair. The only thing that would’ve made it better was Jack being there, too.

“You know you said that out loud, right?” Jeff asked, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his knees.

Well, fuck. Bitty turned his head a little. Had he really? “Oh.” He swallowed.

Kent pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Bitty’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft. “It’ll be August soon.”

It would be August soon -- but August had its own heartache. Once he was with Jack, _Kent_ wouldn’t be there. “I wish Vegas was closer to Massachusetts,” Bitty said.

“That’s the dream, yeah,” said Kent.

Jeff didn’t say anything.

Kent and Bitty spent several days just _living_ , after that -- visiting with Jeff’s family, cooking, watching shitty TV. It was serene, waking up next to Kent every day. They had Jeff over and put Jack on Skype and watched TV with them. They went shopping and took showers together and probably had sex on every available surface of the condo.

It was perfect.

It was Wednesday and they had planned to go hang out with Jeff in the city and visit a couple of bakeries and a cat cafe. After Kent’s morning run and breakfast, Bitty answered the door and was surprised to see Jeff but not Kevin.

“Hey,” Jeff said.

“C’mon in,” said Bitty, stepping back. “No Kevin? What’s she gonna do all day?”

“Mom’s watching her.” Jeff swallowed and leaned against the counter. He looked _awful_ , sort of squinty and pale.

Kent came out of the bedroom, mumbling about not being able to find his sunscreen.

“Are you okay?” Bitty asked.

“My head hurts,” Jeff said, pressing a hand to his temple. Bitty remembered hearing about his migraines before.

“Oh,” Kent said, stopping in front of Jeff.  

“I’m gonna --” Jeff swallowed. “I’m sorry, I think I should go back home --”

“No, c’mon, you’re already here.” Kent pressed a hand to Jeff’s shoulder. “You can just stay. We’ll come back later, okay? You can go to bed and I’ll turn the air down.”

“Are you sure?” Jeff closed his eyes. “There are so many windows.”

“Second bedroom’s in the basement,” Kent said.

“We can just stay in,” Bitty said. “I really don’t mind.” Actually, staying in and watching movies and eating ice cream sounded… kind of awesome. They didn’t _have_ to do anything or be anywhere.

“No, I don’t wanna ruin your day --”

“Go to bed,” said Kent.

Jeff shuffled downstairs while Kent turned to look at Bitty. He ran a hand over his hair, glancing at the clock. “Are you sure you wanna stay in?” he asked.

“Yes, actually,” Bitty said. “We’ve done plenty of running around, haven’t we? Nothing wrong with a day off.”

They piled onto the sofa, Bitty using Kent as a pillow.

“I guess we have been a little busy,” Kent said, shifting a bit so that he could see Bitty’s face.

“We have. And your Cup Day is coming up, isn’t it?”

“Oh -- yeah,” Kent said. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. I, um. I got a cabin in New York.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I want to come back right after, but I found a nice place.”

“A cabin?” Bitty grinned. “Perfect! Where is it?”

“Well, um.” Kent chewed his lower lip for a minute. “I got a place in Cuomo’s Cove, but I, um. I was thinking about seeing if my mom had time to eat lunch with us before we left the state… if you want.” He glanced up at Bitty, eyes wary.

Oh. Lord. Meeting Kent’s mother -- honestly, Bitty had sort of thought he’d never meet her. Ever. Like maybe not even at their wedding. Nicolette Parson-now-Williams was so busy with her new husband and her new family, it often seemed to Bitty like she’d forgotten she’d ever had a different one. Kent hardly ever talked about her.

“Oh,” he said, “honey.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to,” Kent said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“I just haven’t seen her in a while, and so I thought if I was up there anyway,” Kent continued, “I should at least ask her.”

Lord. Bitty couldn’t imagine trying to sit through a lunch with someone who maybe hated him. Would he be able to handle that? But then again, could he really let Kent go by himself? She’d no doubt be upset about them kissing on television. Bitty -- Bitty instigated that. “Sure,” he said, words coming out in a rush, “let’s do it.”

Kent nodded, staying quiet. Leaning in, Bitty tilted his head to catch Kent’s mouth with his.

“Hey,” he said. “Will you play for me?”

The corner of Kent’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Yes,” he said. “Hang on a second.”

Bitty experimented with a new tart recipe while Kent fiddled around on his guitar, working his way around new arrangements of a couple of songs. He’d posted new videos just twice while they were in Canada -- one recorded in the mountains and the other recorded on the warm yellow sofa, Señor Bun sitting next to him. After they ate lunch, Bitty settled in next to Kent on the sofa, flipping through Netflix. A Disney movie marathon sounded perfect.

They were halfway through _The Little Mermaid_ when Jeff shuffled into the living room.

“Hey, buddy,” said Kent, looking up.

Bitty scooted so Kent could scoot, making room for Jeff on the sectional. “Feeling better?”

Smiling a little, Jeff nodded and dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s a little bit better,” he said.

“You should drink some water,” said Kent.

Jeff leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “I know. Gimme a minute.”

“I was gonna go to MacKay’s and get some ice cream,” Kent said, tone light. “You up for that?”

Jeff opened one eye. “I could be up for that,” he said.

They all piled into the rental car, because Jeff didn’t want to drive. “This is the place, right?” Bitty asked. “With all the flavors?”

“Yes,” said Kent. “This is the flavor place.”

Once they stepped inside, it became clear that picking just one flavor was going to take _forever_ . The girl behind the counter gave him a friendly smile and offered to explain anything if Bitty had any questions. There were so _many_ kinds -- including ones Bitty wasn’t terribly familiar with, like kulfi and keso and halo halo. “Oh lord,” he said. “You weren’t kidding.” How was he ever going to decide?

Jeff didn’t seem to have any such trouble. “Peanut butter,” he said, smiling at the girl behind the counter. She blushed.

Kent stared at all the ice cream like a little kid, walking back and forth as he tried to choose. “I just -- I mean, how do you pick?”

“Do that eenie meenie miney moe thing, you love that,” Jeff suggested before shoving his spoon back into his mouth.

Kent ended up with green tea flavor. Bitty chose cherry custard, and they all headed back to the condo, where Jeff agreed to take something for his head. Bitty ducked into the downstairs bedroom to call Jack while Kent went to take “the longest shower ever.”

Jack picked up after the second ring. “Hey, Bittle,” he said.

God, it was good to hear his voice. “Hi, honey,” Bitty said. His throat was tight all of a sudden. “How’re you?”

“I’m good,” Jack said. “Had a good day.” He paused. “Are you okay?”

Bitty swallowed. “Yeah, I just -- I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” said Jack. “August feels like it’s pretty far away.”

“Yeah.” Bitty leaned back against the headboard. “It sucks we’re on opposite ends of Canada.”

Jack laughed. “Opposite ends of Canada,” he agreed. “It does suck.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. He paused. “I had very interesting flavors of ice cream, today.”

“I saw the chats,” Jack said. “Did you like them?”

The _chats_ . Lord. He’d sent Jack little videos on SnapChat. “Most people call those _snaps_ , honey,” Bitty said.

Jack huffed. “I don’t see any difference.”

Of course he didn’t. “Yes, well. Anyway, the ice cream was delicious! Have you ever had haskap berry flavor?”

Jack’s warm laugh sent a shiver down his spine.

It was dark and cool in the living room by the time Bitty came upstairs, the TV on at a very low volume. Jeff was asleep on the floor, leaned up against the sofa, head resting on Kent’s leg. Bitty leaned on Kent’s shoulder, smiling when Kent turned to kiss his forehead. “Hey, baby,” Bitty said.

“Hi,” Kent murmured.

“You tired?”

“Not really.” Kent leaned in to kiss Bitty again. “You wanna go to bed?”

Bitty glanced down. “And just leave Jeff on the floor?” he whispered.

“He knows how to go to bed if he wakes up,” said Kent, gingerly scooting over so as not to wake him. “C’mon.”

Jeff took his Cup Day on the Stoney Nakoda Reserve, just like he had the last time. The photos on Twitter were very sweet, though Bitty mostly saw them in the midst of their whirlwind of packing and travelling to New York. Christopher would take the Cup after Jeff, but then it would be Kent’s turn and they’d both wanted a moment to sort of… prepare.

When it arrived, Kent’s Cup Day was, for the most part, pretty quiet -- just the way he wanted it. He’d rented a large cabin in a secluded area with a beautiful view of the Catskill Mountains. There was a jacuzzi tub and a giant bed and absolutely no cell phone or internet service. Philip Pritchard, the Keeper of the Cup, seemed a bit put out by that, but Kent made no effort to hide his joy. They took pictures with the Cup, with Bitty being quite careful to avoid touching it as Kent carried it outside to set it on the deck so he could snap his own photo with the mountains behind it.

“Honestly,” he told one of the people from ESPN, “I ate cereal out of it last time. I promise it’s not gonna fall off the deck.”

Bitty laughed.

Neither of them answered many questions about their relationship, nor did they allow a whole lot of photos of them together. While their relationship obviously wasn’t a secret any more, Bitty still didn’t want his face all over everything having to do with hockey. They both sort of… stared at it for a while, once a couple of the reporters left. They ate dinner with the Cup in a chair next to Kent and settled it into an armchair for the evening -- Kent wanted to watch TV with it.

Sitting next to the Cup, Kent kept glancing over at it, a small smile on his face. His arm tightened around Bitty a moment later.

“You okay?” Bitty brushed gentle fingers along Kent’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” said Kent, voice soft. “Yeah. I’m just --” he shook his head. “I don’t think I ever -- I mean, I know we were together last year, but it’s -- it was different.”

It was different. Kent hadn’t _played_ for the finals because of injury. So many things had happened since then, and they definitely hadn’t spent his Cup Day together. Bitty pressed a kiss to Kent’s temple. “I know, sweetheart,” he said.

They fell asleep on the sofa with the Stanley Cup next to them.

In the morning Bitty and Kent made breakfast for Philip before he left, taking the Cup with him. Kent shut the door after them and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. “Well,” he said. “We have one more night and then it’s -- it’s Mom tomorrow.”

Bitty nodded. “Better make it an amazing night, then,” he said, pitching his voice a bit lower.

Kent flushed.

They didn’t get much sleep. Kent’s alarm went off after what felt like five minutes, and as he sat up in bed, Bitty winced. Were Kent’s thighs as sore as his? Rubbing them, he sighed.

“I’ll make coffee,” Kent said, leaning over to kiss Bitty’s shoulder. “And get you some Tylenol.”

That answered that question. Bitty threw a pillow at him as he left the bedroom, laughing.

After quite a long drive, they met Kent’s mother in a small cafe in Tonawanda, Kent’s hometown.

She kissed both his cheeks. “You look well,” she said.

Kent held both her hands in his. “You do, too,” he said. “Really.” Her answering smile was bright. After a moment, he dropped her hands and reached for one of Bitty’s. “Um, Mom. This is -- this is Eric, my boyfriend.”

She glanced at Bitty, gave him a half-smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” said Bitty.

They were shown to their table a moment later, sparing them any further embarrassment. As they sat down, Bitty picked up the menu. His stomach felt a bit… off.

“We’ve been praying for you,” she said, tone conversational.

“Thanks,” Kent said. “How’s Nina?” He paused, then added, “and Dan” a moment later, even though Bitty knew he only really cared about his little sister.

Half-sister. Whatever.

“They’re wonderful,” she said. “Everything’s been going so well.” They chatted for a bit about how Nina was doing in school and how well Dan’s job was doing. It was a boring conversation, but it was nice enough. She asked him a few questions about college, seeming pleased to hear that it was going well.

“I’m glad,” Kent said, after they’d talked about how Nina was going to private school. Nobody said anything else for a few minutes, enough time for their waitress to deliver their food.

Once she was gone, Kent’s mother took a breath before leaning forward a little. “ _Ecoute, mon petit poulet. Si tu vais être gay,"_ she said, _"tu devrais…devrais pas jouer à la famille avec ce garçon_."

Bitty remembered enough French to know he’d been called a “boy” when she’d looked at him. He took a breath. “I’m 21,” he said, staring at her as Kent flinched beside him.

She didn’t seem to notice, all her attention on Kent. " _Tu as considéré le sacerdoce? Tu as aimé être un garçon d'autel_."

“I’m not --”

She slid a brochure across the table. “After the Final, I looked into [Courage](https://couragerc.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/GeneralBrochure2015.pdf) for you,” she said, without so much as a glance in Bitty’s direction.

Kent’s jaw tightened. “I,” he said, after a moment, “am not going to Courage meetings, mother.”

“ _Je veux juste vous aider à surmonter ça, mon cher_ ,” she said, putting her hand on top of one of Kent’s.

After a moment, Kent pulled his hand away. “We should go. I’m glad you’re doing well,” he said, in the hockey media voice, the even one that sounded like nothing at all. Setting money down on the table, Kent let out a shivering breath. “Bye, Mom.”

They left the diner, Kent first, and he pushed the button so that the car was unlocked before they reached it. Neither of them said anything as they got in, buckling their seatbelts out of habit.

Kent sat, just staring at the steering wheel.

“What is Courage?” Bitty asked, after they’d sat silently in the car for five minutes.

“It’s AA for being gay,” Kent said, voice thick. He turned the key in the ignition.

Bitty hated her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Kent's mom say to him?
> 
> "Listen my little chicken, if you're going to be gay you should -- you shouldn't be playing house with this boy."  
> "Haven't you thought about the priesthood? You loved being an altar boy."  
> "I just want to help you work through this."
> 
> 'my little chicken' has been her pet name for Kent for a long time.
> 
> \--
> 
> thanks rhysiana & piesnpucks as always for your beta reading and help. thanks fabbittle for help with the french bits. and thank you for still reading.


	41. closer i get to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> newest is chapter 39

Bitty brushed a bit of golden hair back from Kent’s face. He had a bunch of new freckles, all scattered across his nose. Waking up without him was going to be…

“Are you watching me sleep?” Kent asked, voice rough.

Laughing, Bitty dropped his head down on Kent’s pillow. “Only a little,” he admitted. 

“Aw, babe. That’s so creepy,” said Kent, rolling over to sling an arm around Bitty and pull him close, Señor Bun crushed between them. After a minute, he let out tiny sigh. “When’s your flight?”

Bitty swallowed. “Two,” he said.

“Mmm.” Kent’s arm tightened around him. “What time is it now?” He hadn’t set an alarm.

“Eight,” Bitty said.

“Eight?” Kent let out a muffled laugh. “Fuck, we can’t sleep in for shit, huh?”

“No,” said Bitty, “I blame you. Personally.”

Kent laughed again.

Their summer together had been perfect. They’d spent their last week together in Vegas, puttering around Kent’s house and baking cookies and going out to dinner. Bitty had loved every moment of it, every detail of what their shared life would look like. And now that it was time to leave, the thought of going back to the telephone and Skype and spending months at a time without touching made him feel just a little bit sick. It was going to be so  _ hard _ .

“I don’t want to go,” he whispered.

Kent shifted, pushing up on one elbow. “I don’t want you to, either,” he said. He pressed a kiss to Bitty’s cheek. “But it’s not forever, right?”

“Right,” Bitty said. He only had a year of school left. “A year’s not that long.”

Kent’s smile was soft, charmed, and he snuggled in a little closer for a while before leaving the bed.

They spent the morning eating cereal on the sofa, holding each other close. Bitty traced his fingers over the curve of Kent’s jaw, ran them through his hair. It would be a long time before they were in the same room again. He needed that memory to last.

It was only once they reached the airport that Bitty realized it: this time, they didn’t have to say goodbye in the car. Kent parked and walked in with him, waiting while he checked in. As soon as the kiosk printed his tickets, Bitty glanced at the security line. It was long, and he shook his head. “Lord. You were right. The whole global entry thing is  _ completely _ worth it.”

“Of course it is, airport security is a nightmare. Hey.” Kent leaned in, kissing him very gently. “Let me know when you get there, huh?” he murmured.

“Of course, sweetpea,” Bitty said, squeezing Kent’s hand.

“I love you,” said Kent, not bothering to lower his voice. If he noticed the person trying to take their photo, he didn’t let on.

“I love you, too.” Bitty kissed him again, leaning into it a bit more before Kent pulled back.

“Don’t miss your flight, babe,” he said.

“Okay, okay.” Bitty picked up his bag and headed for security.

On the plane, Bitty put his headphones in, turning on Kent’s pre-game playlist and staring out the window at the fluffy clouds. He’d be getting in pretty late -- no doubt Jack would be tired when he picked him up. Bitty smiled a little, thinking about him. 

It was going to be a great week.

 

The plane touched down, and as soon as the overhead voice gave the him permission, Bitty turned his phone service back on. He opened his messages to Kent first.  _ Made it! _ he sent, adding a bunch of sparkly heart emojis.

Jack was next.  _ Plane landed!! _

They met at the baggage claim.

“Hey, Bittle,” said Jack, raising one hand.

Bitty waved. It felt like meeting Kent in the airport in Vegas before, where they couldn’t risk touching. The light on the baggage claim began to blink. 

“Good flight?” Jack asked.

“Lord, there was a crying baby,” said Bitty. “Poor thing. But I’m so glad to be off.” He stretched up onto his tiptoes for a minute.

A second later, Jack grabbed Bitty’s bag off the conveyor belt. A soft smile crossed his face. “This it?” he asked.

Bitty flushed, eyes fixed on the muscles in Jack’s forearm. “Yep,” he said.  _ You sweet thing _ . He’d remembered which bag belonged to Bitty. “That’s it.”

Jack hefted the bag. “Great.”

It took a  _ million years _ to get back to Jack’s apartment. As soon as he was through the door, Bitty dropped his bag on the floor. The moment the door closed behind Jack, Bitty turned around, sliding arms around Jack’s waist.

Jack wound strong arms around him, pulling him in close.

Bitty felt like he’d been waiting to touch Jack for an eternity.

“I missed you,” Bitty mumbled, face pressed against Jack’s chest. Lord, he smelled good, like soap and sunshine.

Jack pressed a kiss into Bitty’s hair. “I missed you, too,” he said.

Letting out a soft breath, Bitty just leaned against Jack for a moment, savoring the even beat of his heart. Jack rubbed his shoulder with a thumb, standing still. 

“Everything okay?” Jack asked.

“Everything’s great,” said Bitty. He leaned back a bit, looking up at Jack’s face. “Hey,” he said, running his hands down Jack’s sides.

“Hey,” said Jack. He brought one hand up to cup Bitty’s face. Leaning down, Jack brushed their lips together in a heated kiss.

A while later, after they’d both managed to catch their breath, Bitty settled on to the sofa next to Jack, resting a hand on his leg. “We can go to the store in a bit,” he said, “and get things for dinner. I was thinking I might make a blueberry pie -- so summery, y’know.”

“Very summery,” Jack agreed. “We can grill.”

“You have a  _ grill _ ? Well! You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you, Mr. Zimmermann?” Bitty laughed. “So considerate.” 

Jack flushed just a little.

“Lord, it’s good to be back,” Bitty said. 

And it was, honestly. Being back in the Northeast  _ and _ being back with Jack felt good. They had a whole week until Bitty had to be back at Samwell, and the Falconers’ practices wouldn’t start for a while yet. “How was Montreal? Not sorry to cut your visit short?”

Jack smiled. “It was good to be home,” he said. “But it’s nice to be back.” He squeezed Bitty’s hand. “With you.”

“Flatterer,” Bitty said, despite the warmth in his chest. “I sh-- oh! I brought you a present! Wait right here.” He went back to the bedroom and rooted around in his bag until he found it, squashed in under his shirts. Pulling out the stuffed horse, Bitty took a minute to smooth the fur before heading back out. Jack was sitting in the living room on his sofa, waiting, and Bitty came to stand between his knees. “Ta-da!” He brandished the horse. 

Jack laughed, looking up at him. “What  _ is _ this?” he asked, taking the toy from Bitty with a soft smile on his face.

“I won it at the Stampede!” Bitty said. 

“You  _ won _ it?” Jack turned it over in his hands.

“Yes,” Bitty said, setting a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Throwing axes.”

“Throwing  _ axes _ ,” Jack repeated, one hand leaving the stuffed horse to rest on Bitty’s hip. “Very impressive. Didn’t know you had it in you, Bittle.”

“My depths are hidden and fabulous,” Bitty said in a prim tone.

“Right,” said Jack, “of course they are.”

The decided on fish and vegetables for dinner, piling back into Jack’s car to go to the store after a quick peek through cupboards. As predicted, all the food in Jack’s pantry was boring -- or at least, boring by Bitty’s standards. There was plenty of time before the season started! Jack could afford to live a  _ little _ . 

It was only once they were actually in the car that Bitty realized he’d forgotten about how much country music Jack listened to, along with how much he enjoyed forcing Bitty to listen to it. A Kacey Musgraves song came on the radio, the one with lines about smoking pot and gay kissing, and Jack sang along to it, windows down. Bitty shook his head -- he’d had such a lovely summer not listening to that much country, Stampede notwithstanding. Jack parked the car and stayed in to sing the last bit of it to Bitty, only shutting the engine off when a new song started to play.

In the store, Bitty made sure to get everything he’d need for a blueberry pie and other treats -- eggs, butter, some heavy whipping cream... He was just putting blueberries into the cart when it occurred to him. “Honey, what do you think about lemon?” he asked.

“Lemon? Like, in general?” Jack shrugged. “It’s good.”

“Well, lemon bars are practically mandatory for a summer cookout, so --” Bitty added lemons to their cart, settling them in next to the flour.

Jack made him listen to Garth Brooks on the way back to the apartment. It would’ve been  _ infuriating _ if Jack wasn’t so gosh darned adorable, cheeks pink and eyes bright as he drove them home. Bitty could even forgive him for George Strait. 

Grilling was a time-honored summer tradition, even if it  _ was _ cooler in Providence than summer had any right to be. Humming, Bitty chopped summer squash, adding it to the pile of vegetables. Twisting the top of the grinder, he dusted them all with black pepper. 

Jack was outside, lighting charcoal in the grill on his balcony. After a moment of thought, Bitty grabbed two beers from the fridge. He pocketed the bottle opener and grabbed the plate of vegetables before stepping outside, sliding the door shut after him. Jack looked back at him for a second, smiling.

“Hey,” he said. “Vegetables?”

“Ready!” Bitty set the plate down carefully. “Seasoned and oiled.”

“That sounds dirty,” said Jack, and Bitty laughed.

“Here, honey.” He popped the top off a beer before handing it to Jack.

Jack took a drink before setting the beer down and letting out a soft, windy sigh.

Pausing in opening his own bottle, Bitty looked up. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Jack. “This is just -- really nice.”

Bitty smiled, watching Jack turn the fish over on the grill. “It is really nice, isn’t it?”

It was late by the time they finished cooking. Both of them settled onto the sofa, plates on their laps, thighs touching. The fish was buttery, perfectly cooked, and the vegetables still had the bit of crispness Bitty preferred. He sighed, leaning back a little. “It’s perfect, sweetheart.”

Jack smiled at him. “Thanks,” he said.

“D’you mind if we just head on to bed after we clean up the kitchen?” Bitty asked, and he didn’t miss the way Jack’s grin sharpened.

“I don’t mind at all,” he said.

They didn’t actually sleep for quite some time.

Waking up with Jack was totally different than waking up with Kent, except for the fact that it really wasn’t. They were both dedicated to their routines, they both had a bad habit of eating the exact same breakfast every day, and neither of them ever pushed snooze. Except, apparently, for Bitty’s visits -- because Jack was still in bed with him.

Pushing up onto one elbow, Bitty smiled at Jack. His face was still crushed against the pillow, sheets a tangle around his bare waist. Leaning over, Bitty pressed a kiss to Jack’s neck. Jack groaned a little, shifting, and Bitty laughed. Sliding out of bed, he winced as his thighs reminded him just how late their night had been.

By the time he’d gone to the bathroom and come back, the bed was empty. Bitty yanked a shirt out of Jack’s closet, pulling it on along with a pair of red shorts he’d left the last time he was there, and headed for the kitchen.

Jack’s back was to him when he entered, still bare. Bitty flushed a little -- Jack had only thought to put on underwear before going to make coffee, the aroma of which was now wafting through the apartment.

Scooting closer, Bitty snaked his arms around Jack’s waist. “Hi, honey,” he said.

Jack twisted to smile at him. “Good morning,” he said.

“It is, isn’t it?” Bitty accepted the mug of coffee Jack offered. It was nice and strong, and he sipped it for a minute, just leaning on the counter while Jack rummaged in a cupboard.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Making pancakes,” said Jack.

“Oh  _ really _ ?” Bitty set his mug down. “You’re not planning to use some kind of mix, are you?”

Jack set a large mixing bowl on the counter. “With you in this apartment? Never.”

Grabbing eggs out of the fridge, Bitty directed Jack to grab what he needed to start working on pancakes. “You got a griddle?” He didn’t remember seeing one in the apartment before.

“Uh --” Jack stared at him, and Bitty laughed.

Right, he thought not. “That’s fine, I’ll use a pan.”

“All right, Bits.”

It took a minute to get everything measured out and in the bowl, and Bitty left Jack mixing while he washed fruit and located the maple syrup. When he turned back around, Jack had a bit of flour smeared along one cheek, and he was stirring the batter in a very focused manner. 

Bitty just watched him for a minute. 

Stepping closer, Bitty put the pan on the stove and turned on the burner. He could have their plates ready quickly. Cooking the pancakes before the eggs was fine, it’d be better for the eggs not to get cold. “Hand me that bowl, there --” Bitty held out a hand.

“Flip one in the air,” Jack said.

Right. Bitty laughed, taking the bowl and pouring some batter into the hot skillet.

“I’m serious,” said Jack. “You  _ can _ flip them, can’t you?”

“Well --” Bitty reached for the spatula.

Jack gasped, grabbing for it first. “You can’t flip them? Who are you?”

Bitty laughed. “All right, all  _ right _ !” He went for the spatula again, but it was hopeless -- Jack was holding it too high. Placing a hand on Jack’s bare chest, Bitty popped up onto his tiptoes. “Give me that!”

“Kiss me,” Jack said, “and I will.”

“Extortion,” said Bitty, but he kissed Jack anyway.

Jack tugged him closer, dropping the spatula on the counter so his hand could slide around Bitty’s waist. Lifting Bitty a moment later, Jack turned to sit him on the counter. Bitty trailed fingers down the side of Jack’s neck, slid them back up to bury them in his hair. Jack kissed him again, harder this time, hands tightening on Bitty’s ass to pull him forward, close the space between them.

He was like water in the desert, and Bitty leaned into the kiss, clasping his legs around Jack’s waist. “Put that bowl in the fridge,” he murmured, sucking in a quick breath when Jack groaned. “And take me to bed.” 

The pancake was burned by the time he dragged it off the stove, switching the burner off and tossing the pan in the sink.

Even though it hadn’t been that long -- mere hours, really -- Bitty ran his hands over Jack like he hadn’t seen him in years, treasuring the slide of muscle under skin as Jack leaned over him. 

“God, I missed you,” Bitty said, brushing his thumb across Jack’s cheek. “I know it hasn’t been that long, but --”

“I know,” said Jack. He bent his head, caught Bitty’s mouth with his. “I missed you, too. All the time.” He pressed hot kisses against Bitty’s neck, nipping at the skin just a little. 

Bitty tilted his head a little, letting out a shivery breath. “Jack --”

“Mm.” Jack kissed his collarbone before tugging at the shirt, pulling it off over Bitty’s head and tossing it aside. 

It was easy to get lost in the sensation of Jack’s hands on his sides, Jack’s lips on his skin. Bitty leaned back against the pillows as Jack continued kissing lower and lower, one hand steady on Bitty’s thigh. Fuck, he wanted -- he needed -- 

Fisting a hand in Jack’s hair, Bitty gasped a little. “Honey,” he said, “please.  _ Fuck _ . I --”

Jack swallowed him down, hot and hungry, and Bitty swore again, his hips jerking upwards. God, it was so good.

After, when they were both gasping on the bed, spread out on top of the sheets, Bitty wiggled his toes as the numbness faded. Jesus. If he’d thought his thighs were sore before, he could only imagine what kind of muscle pain he was in for the following morning.

Next to him, Jack’s stomach growled. Bitty giggled a little. “Sorry,” said Jack.

“Just give me a few minutes, I’ll get in there and make breakfast,” Bitty said. All he needed was a quick shower.

Despite the fact that it had annoyed Jack so deeply in school, Bitty belted Beyoncé in the shower as he lathered up with Jack’s soap. The logic was sound: Jack was up anyway, because they’d gotten up together. It wouldn’t interfere with his sleep at all, so he’d have no reason to complain.

Bitty was  _ not _ expecting to step out of the shower to hear Jack humming along with him, shaving his face at the sink.

“Mr. Zimmermann!” Bitty grabbed for a towel. “You know that song?”

“It’s on the playlist you made me,” Jack said, tilting his head so he could finish shaving. 

That playlist was just full of songs Bitty loved -- but it wasn’t quite Jack’s style. But he  _ knew _ the song. “You listened to it?” he asked, tightening his grip on the towel. How many times had he listened to it?

“Of course I did,” Jack said. He glanced up in the mirror, smiling softly. “Reminds me of you.”

Bitty swallowed. “We gotta cook that batter, now,” he said. He’d stuffed the bowl into the fridge in a hurry, and while it was probably okay, they really needed to use it.

“I’m starving.” Jack wiped his face with a towel, tossed it aside. He grinned at Bitty. “Worth it, though.”

As they ate their pancakes, Jack kept glancing up at Bitty, smiling.

“What?” Bitty asked, finally. “What’re you staring for?”

“Would you like to go to a museum today?” Jack asked.

Bitty blinked. “Um,” he said, “sure? What kind?”

“Culinary Arts,” Jack said.

They had a culinary arts museum? Bitty almost dropped his fork. “Of  _ course _ I want to go,” he said. “When?”

“Today,” said Jack. “After this.”

Bitty stuffed the last of his pancakes in his mouth.

The museum was glorious. Stepping into the diner exhibit, Bitty felt transported back in time -- the checkerboard floor, the soda fountain, the shiny red chairs… it was like classic 1950’s TV, complete with a menu full of diner slang to order with. 

There were old stoves and a whole campsite cooking exhibit. Bitty made sure to look at everything, snapping pictures to send to Kent. Jack listened to Bitty ramble off thoughts about every bit of the museum, laughing when Bitty insisted they take a picture in the home kitchens area. It was a cheerful afternoon, and when they slid back into Jack’s car to head home, Bitty let out a soft sigh.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” he said.

“It was interesting,” said Jack. “What was your favorite?”

“The home kitchens,” Bitty said, a soft smile crossing his face. “My MooMaw has some of those same dishes. Isn’t it funny, how much food can make you feel?”

Jack’s hand slid over to grasp his, holding it comfortably out of sight of other drivers. “Yes,” he said, and something in his tone of voice made Bitty’s chest hurt.

He slept deeply that night, arms curled around Jack and Señor Bun. In the morning, Jack went out for his customary run, leaving Bitty to putter about the apartment, making coffee and planning for lunch. He was determined to make things that were nutritious enough to suit Jack’s dietary requirements but also delicious enough to serve other humans.

He’d been working on that all summer, actually, testing things in Canada and making notes about what worked and what didn’t. After a morning of lazy television and snuggling, Bitty went to work in the kitchen, putting together a dish he was  _ sure _ Jack would like -- even if he  _ had _ expressed doubts about Bitty’s experiments all summer.

“Oh! Won’t you look at this?” Bitty pulled the baking dish from the oven. “Now, I know you were a skeptic, but just you wait, Mr. Zimmermann! I’m certain this is the healthiest cassoulet ever conceived by man,” Bitty said. “I tried it out on Jeff Troy.”

Jack looked at it. “ _ Tse. Faire de la cuisine française, ça remplace pas tes aides memoire _ .”

“What?” Bitty gave Jack a sidelong glance. Setting the dish carefully on trivets so as not to scorch Jack’s counter, he paused. “Oh! I just remembered.” Bitty looked back over at Jack. “You said you had something else to tell me, earlier?” They’d gotten distracted by Bitty’s hatred for -- and subsequent ranting about -- Rachael Ray.

“Oh, yeah,” Jack said.

Bitty startled as Jack abruptly left the kitchen. What on Earth was he up to? 

Jack returned to the kitchen with a small box cradled in his hands. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

“Oh my  _ God _ !” Grabbing the box from Jack’s hands, Bitty stared at it. It was a… toy? A tiny little toy figure. Of -- “What is  **this** ?!”

“They sent everyone their toys that just came out,” Jack said. “I figured you might want --”

Oh Lord! It was a Lego toy of  _ Jack _ ! “Aaahhh!!” It was so adorable!

“Okay,” Jack said. There was a bit of silence while Bitty turned the toy over in his hands, and when he looked up, Jack was staring at him with nervous, wide eyes.

“Wait,” said Bitty. “Why’re you looking at me like --” oh, right. He hadn’t  _ answered _ . “Oh! Of  **course** I’ll be your boyfriend, sweetheart!” He threw his arms around Jack’s neck. “So formal.”

“It’s been a few months,” Jack said, wrapping his hands around Bitty’s waist, “I figured we should be official. I mean, you know.”

“As official as we can be,” Bitty provided. “I know. And I love it.”

“To celebrate,” Jack said, “let’s go to WaterFire tonight, yeah? I haven’t seen it, yet.”

_ WaterFire _ . Sounded fancy. “What is it?” Bitty asked, smoothing a bit of Jack’s hair with one hand.

“You’ll see,” Jack said.

WaterFire, as it turned out, was an… art exhibit, public festival, and performance piece all in one. Braziers of burning wood floated along the surface of the river, lighting up the night. The urge to grab for Jack’s hand was constant -- it was romantic enough, strolling along the waterfront, watching the flickering of fire and listening to music. 

“They do it every year, I guess,” Jack said. “Some of the guys told me about it.”

“It’s amazing,” said Bitty. The city was golden with it, warm and alive and  _ shining _ . Everywhere he looked he could see happy faces -- children with parents, couples strolling arm in arm. It was absolutely beautiful, but Bitty couldn’t bring himself to take a picture.

He didn’t want to share it with anyone else, not even Kent. Glancing up at Jack’s face, watching the way the light sank into his cheekbones and deepened in his hair, Bitty’s heart was so, so full. 

When they went home, curling up in bed, Bitty dragged gentle fingers through Jack’s hair. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Sure,” said Jack, voice drowsy. 

_ I love you _ . Bitty closed his eyes, tucking his face down close to Jack’s shoulder. It was too soon. 

It was too soon, but he felt it all the same.

The next day was less eventful, though Jack did mention that Tater had planned to call him in the afternoon. 

“Hey, Tater,” Jack said, answering the Skype call in the living room. 

Bitty was glad Tater had kept up with Jack over the summer -- not that he’d expected anything less, because Tater was cheerful and fun and he seemed to have taken a particular shine to Jack, anyway. Walking in to the living room with a glass of water for Jack, he set it down on the table and waved at the camera.

Tater looked at him, brow furrowing. “Eric?” he said.

Ah. Crap. Why hadn’t he thought about this? “Hi, Tater,” said Bitty, because Jack called him Tater often enough that that was how Bitty thought of him, too, even if Kent  _ did _ call him Alexei. “How’s your summer?”

“Is good,” he said. “You’re not in Canada?”

“School starts again pretty soon,” Bitty said.

Tater grinned. “I’m forgetting you went to college with Zimmboni.” He turned his gaze on Jack. “You taking your friend to WaterFire, huh?”

“Yes,” said Jack, “I did. Thanks for the suggestion. It was fun.”

“Sure, sure. Next year I should coming with you,” said Tater. “You can tell girlfriend to cook for me. I’m thinking you were asking for suggestion for her, anyway.”

Jack laughed, and Bitty glanced at him.

He left them alone to chat a bit, going to do some laundry and check up on Kent’s channel in the guest room while he waited. There was a new video when he checked, and Bitty pressed play immediately, settling back against pillows in the bed to listen. 

Kent still wasn’t showing his face on video. It shouldn’t have surprised Bitty, not really -- but it did, a little. Sitting on a porch, Kent was golden in the late afternoon light, wearing Bitty’s Samwell Hockey shirt. He covered  _ Adorn _ by Miguel, and Bitty turned the volume on the video up. Kent sounded good -- relaxed, calm. Bitty had worried a bit, leaving him so soon after the meeting with his mother. It was good to see.

He wondered, idly, what a video with Jack singing would sound like. Amazing, probably. Jack had a beautiful voice. Did Kent know that? Was Jack happy enough to sing, back then?

Bitty was still thinking about it when Jack knocked on the door, pushing it open after waiting a moment. 

“Good call?” Bitty asked. He was just scrolling Twitter.

“Yeah,” said Jack. 

“It’s nice of him to check up on you.” Bitty shut his laptop. “Sorry if I made it awkward there for a minute.”

“I think that Tater was… confused,” said Jack, sitting down on the bed next to Bitty, “seeing you.”

“He and Kent are friends,” Bitty said. “Have been for a while.”

“Right,” Jack said. “I know. I just thought we might want to talk about… that. Telling people, I mean.”

Bitty swallowed.

“If you’d be okay with it,” Jack said, “and not right now, but -- soon. Telling my parents about us?”

Oh. Bitty bit his lower lip. “You’d want that?” he asked. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. And, honestly, if Bitty weren’t dating Kent, it wouldn’t be. But the entire world knew he was. Jack’s parents knew, he was sure of it. 

“Of course,” said Jack. “My dad would have good advice, and... my mom has been asking about you a lot anyways.” He swallowed. “I want them to know about you. I understand if that’s --”

“No, honey,” Bitty said, interrupting him, “that’s -- that would mean a lot to me.”

Jack gave him a slow, happy smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “Whenever you want to. I’m -- I’d love it.” He paused.

When Kent called that evening, he was at the Troys’ home -- he’d gone back to Canada when Eric came to Providence rather than going back out to Vegas. After their meeting with Kent’s mother, Bitty didn’t blame him at all. It was much better for him to be in the Troy’s happy, warm home than alone in Vegas with no one but his cat.

Bitty answered the call from the bed, tucked in under blue sheets with Jack next to him. It was 10:30 at night already. “Hi, honey,” he said. On screen, Kevin perked up when she heard his voice, tilting her head to look at the computer. “Hi there, little baby,” Bitty said.

“Hey, you.” Kent was in bed, too. He looked tired, hair messy and glasses on, shoulders slumping a little. Jeff was next to him, shirtless, playing with his phone. “Sorry it’s so late.” His voice was softer than usual.

“Well, it’s early for you,” Bitty said. “I’m surprised y’all’re in bed.” He paused. “I saw your video today.”

“Yeah?” Kent shifted a little in the bed. “Did you like it?”

“It was great,” Bitty said. “I love that song.”

The smile on Kent’s face was tiny and fleeting. “Do you still have time to watch TV?” Kent asked. They were about halfway through  _ The Americans _ , a pick Kent had based off the logic that Jack might like it, too.

“One episode,” said Jack.

“I didn’t mean a marathon,” Kent said, shoulders dropping further.  

Jeff looked up immediately, narrowing his eyes at Jack through the thick hair that had fallen in front of his face.

“An episode sounds great,” Bitty said, nudging Jack with his elbow. “Y’all look tired, too.”

“Somebody decided we ought to start training harder again today,” said Jeff, tucking his hair back behind an ear. He set his phone to the side, scooting a little closer to Kent. 

They turned the episode on, and Bitty snuggled in under the covers to watch it. The show was about spies in the 80s, and he was surprised by how into he’d gotten -- despite Jack and Jeff’s occasional bickering about history. Before he knew it, the credits for the episode were rolling, and Bitty checked the time. “Well, boys, I’d say one more, but…” Bitty trailed off, looking at Kent on the screen. He’d fallen asleep about halfway through, head leaning against one hand.

Jeff looked over at Kent. “Oh,” he said. “Uh --”

“He fell asleep a little while back,” said Bitty. Tilting his head, he bit his lip for a second. “How was today?”

Jeff ran a hand through his hair, tucking it back behind his ear again. His eyes went to Jack for a second before he focused on Bitty again. “It was one of those days.” 

Something in the way he said  _ those days _ made Bitty’s heart hurt just a little. “Did something happen?”

Jeff shook his head. “Nah. Just a day.” He paused. “It’ll be okay.” Looking back at Kent, sleeping in that awkward position, Jeff sighed. “I’ll take care of him. We’ll see you later, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Bitty. “Y’all get some rest. I’ll call him tomorrow, okay?”

“‘Course,” said Jeff. “I’ll tell him.”

“‘Night,” said Jack.

Jeff glanced at Jack. “‘Night, Zimmermann,” he said. He gave Bitty a small smile. “G’night, Eric,” he said.

“Good night, sweetheart,” Bitty said. “Thank you.”

He shut the laptop before setting it down on the floor and scooting it under the bed. Being so far from Kent when he was having one of those days always hurt. Bitty knew he wasn’t responsible for them, and he knew Kent -- and Jeff -- didn’t begrudge him the distance, but still. He wished he could’ve held Kent for a while. Straightening back up, he ran a hand over his hair. “Well,” he said. 

“It’s nice that Kent has somebody while you’re here,” said Jack.

“Oh,” said Bitty, “well, you know. It’s just Jeff. But yes, it’s really great.” He yawned.

“Just Jeff?” Jack frowned. “What do you mean? Aren’t they together?”

Together? Like --  _ together _ together? “Oh,” said Bitty, after a moment, “no.”

Jack’s baffled face would’ve been funny if Bitty wasn’t suddenly concerned that Jack ought to be right. “Oh,” said Jack. “Um, okay. I just thought --”

“It does seem like that,” Bitty said. “Sometimes. I mean, I definitely think that Jeff’s family thought they were dating.”

“He seems… good for him,” Jack offered.

“Jeffrey Troy is practically an angel to him,” said Bitty. “They  _ should _ be dating, probably. Lord knows Jeff would say yes if Kent asked him.”

Jack laughed. “He won’t,” he said. “He’s -- what’s that word? Besotted.”

“Besotted?” Bitty broke into peals of laughter. “Oh,  _ Lord _ . What have you been watching? You sweet thing.”

“I am, too,” Jack said, pulling Bitty in close.

An hour later, when he was still staring at the ceiling as Jack breathed softly beside him, Bitty took a deep breath. It wasn’t that he wasn’t tired. They’d stayed up extra late, in fact, watching TV. It was just that the more Bitty thought about it, the more he realized that Jack was right, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it: Jeff  _ loved _ Kent. He was always there when Kent needed him to be. Hell, he was the one Kent ran to after their threesome disaster. He’d taken Kent into his life so wholly and completely, not asking for anything back. He softened all over when he looked at Kent, and even Jack could see it.

And if Bitty could lie there next to Jack, loving him and Kent at the same time, there was no reason that Kent shouldn’t at least have the same opportunity. Jack was right about that, too: Kent would never think of it himself. Not ever, not even if he did already love Jeff, too, which Bitty thought was extremely likely.

He woke up still thinking about it. Bitty was sure he’d talked to Kent about Jeff before, but all he came up remembering was Kent saying that Jeff was straight and ending the conversation. It would be hard, probably, getting him to really think about it. And it didn’t seem like something worth doing if Bitty was wrong, somehow, about Jeff’s feelings.

He’d just have to confirm, that was all there was to it. He could call Jeff while Jack took a nap. It was a gamble, calling Jeff first, but Bitty felt better about gambling on Jeff’s feelings over Kent’s. If he was wrong, he could simply never speak of it to Kent and the whole idea would go away.

But if he was right? Bitty bit his lip as he held his phone to his ear, listening to it ring.

“Hello?” Jeff answered just before it rolled over to voicemail.

“Hi,” said Bitty. Lord, there wasn’t a single good way to go about this. “Um. Can we talk?”

“Uh --” Jeff set something down, Bitty could hear the  _ thunk _ through the line. “Yeah? What’s this about?”

Bitty knew Jeff well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t appreciate any version of small talk after that opening line. Better to just jump right in. He swallowed. Okay. “I know that you have… feelings for Kent,” Bitty said. “That you probably have for a while.”

Jeff took in a sharp breath. “Look, Eric, I --”

“It’s fine,” Bitty said, interrupting him. “I’m not upset. I just think we should, um. We should talk about this? Because it’s been going on for a while.”

“Nothing is  **going on** ,” Jeff said, tone sharp. 

“I didn’t mean like  _ that _ ,” Bitty said. Fuck. He took a breath. “Just -- okay. Okay. This is coming out wrong.”

Jeff let out a huff of air.

  
“What do you think,” Bitty said softly, “about, um. About dating somebody who has a boyfriend?”

“Uh --” Jeff fell silent for a minute. Bitty chewed his lower lip. “I mean, I -- I never thought about it at all before,” Jeff said, finally.

Right. Of course he hadn’t. Lord, Bitty was going to have to explain all of this a hundred times. “I thought, um. I thought we had fun this summer, all of us. You know. And I know things were weird between you and me after, um. After all that mess months ago, and I know we don’t really know each other that well, but I’d -- I’d like to get to know you better. If you want.”

“Oh,” said Jeff. He sounded dazed. “You mean --”

“You’re good to him,” Bitty said. “All the time. And I love that you are, and Lord knows he needs it.”

Jeff’s deep breath was audible through the phone line. “But what about you?” Jeff asked, words coming out in a rush. “You’re not -- you’re not breaking up with him, are you?” He sounded distressed. “Because that’s a horrible idea. Did something happen? If something’s happened I’m sure you guys can work through it, you’re perf--”

“We’re not breaking up,” Bitty said. He laughed, chest feeling five times lighter. That was Jeff’s first concern? “Mercy, no. No. I’m only asking if you would maybe want to be Kent’s boyfriend too, that’s all.”

“I --”

“You don’t have to date me, too,” Bitty said, quickly. Surely Jeff was thinking about that, about what Bitty was asking. “That’s not -- I’m not saying anything like that. It’s just that I think you love him and I think he loves you, too, and I don’t see why we can’t -- why it has to be you or me. When it could be you  _ and _ me.” He paused, taking a breath.

“I don’t think Kent sees me like that,” Jeff said, after another stretch of silence.

Bitty wasn’t so sure about that. “But you love him,” he said. Jeff hadn’t bothered to try and deny it. “And I know that he doesn’t picture our life without you.”

Honestly, Bitty didn’t picture their life without Jeff, either. He was so central to Kent’s life, such a big part of why Kent was grounded and happy. He’d given Kent a real family. He made him happy, took care of him. He was funny and kind -- he’d make a great dad. And Bitty liked having him around.

“Think about it,” he urged. “That’s all I’m asking. Just think about talking to him. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jeff said slowly. “I’ll -- I’ll think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to rhysiana & piesnpucks as always, for your help and editing.
> 
> brace yourselves. it's happening.
> 
> sorry this one took so long, y'all! i've been really busy in my offline life. the next one will hopefully not be as bad!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Room 319](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11882790) by [Omgpieplease (SceneryTurnedWicked)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SceneryTurnedWicked/pseuds/Omgpieplease)




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